


Not Unlike a Star

by avidvampirehunter



Category: Star Wars Episode VIII: The Last Jedi, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: A.K.A "Ben Swolo", Angst, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fake Marriage, Fluff, Force Bond, Gratuitous Semi-Naked Kylo, Inappropriate Use of the Force, Mirror Kinks, Post-TLJ, Protective Beefcake, RST, Rated E for Epic Pining, Romantic Comedy vibes, Scar-touching, Slow Burn, The Spin-off Rian Promised, Two Virgins on a Cruise... What Could go Wrong?, UST, bed sharing, cruise fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-02
Updated: 2018-04-27
Packaged: 2019-03-12 14:53:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 27,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13549665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avidvampirehunter/pseuds/avidvampirehunter
Summary: They burst. They pull, they push, they inevitably die. Kylo Ren, Ben Solo, believes this wholeheartedly: That the girl means something. That, like stars, they are destined to blaze and burn—for the universe to spin at their feet.When fate brings them together again aboard the luxury star-cruiseliner, The Supernova, what was meant to be an easy, maybe even relaxing mission is thrust into a chaotic tailspin. Forced to share a bed and maintain the civility and intimacy of a married couple on a fourteen-day “cruise through the stars,” the new Supreme Leader and the last Jedi will simply have to... endure.





	1. Reservations | Part I

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, everyone!
> 
> Welcome to my first official dive into the Sin Bin. Two years of Reylo love have prepared me for this moment. And since TLJ came out, I've been thinking nonstop about this idea.
> 
> But first! This story is inspired by one of the greatest writers I've ever had the pleasure to read—StrawberryMerry. A long time ago I read an incredible story for the anime, Bleach, on fanfiction.net, where she portrayed my ship taking a cruise together. It has since been abandoned, but her genius has inspired me to approach the same premise in a new way, hopefully to completion. 
> 
> So, I hereby commit to you, my dear readers, a shameless Reylo cruise!

He should have known.

He should have _known_ things would not go the way he’d hoped. And what a foolish thing to do, to _hope,_ when his one goal for years had been to extinguish it. She brought that out in him. The worst of the life he left behind.

The room is far too silent for his liking. Too empty while his mind is full. Thoughts, images, memories stockpile and send his fist crashing into the nearest wall with their weight. He’s in his chambers, that tiny place where Snoke could keep him crushed beneath his thumb like a pest. An insect. But not anymore. Never again. His mind is his own—yet still it _throbs_ with someone else’s presence _._

Barely an hour has passed since he assembled what was left of the First Order starfleet and sent them back to the Unknown Regions, where not even the debris of Starkiller Base remains. The Resistance is weak, he knows, but so are they. When the warlord in him would have stormed into the Core and demand loyalty in the wake of victory, the Supreme Leader must employ more… _tact._

But he will be damned not to pitch a fit about it.

 _This_ punch is for losing _The Supremacy._ The epitome of First Order technology. Their primary lightspeed tracker was on that ship. So was half of the remaining Stormtroopers. So was Captain Phasma.

So was—

He roars at the thought of _her_ face, that look in her eyes that denied him his due. She took his heart and mawled it, devoured him whole and spat him out again the monster those _eyes_ said he was.

Those broken, crying eyes. The eyes that implored him. That made him, if only for a moment, feel like _someone_ else in his cold, endless galaxy would finally understand. The eyes that tricked him, that made him into the creature _she_ wanted. The eyes that wouldn’t look at him the way they were supposed to when he acted like one.

She was not what she said, not what he’d seen, not what he’d _hoped_. While his world burned down around him, she held the torch. If her eyes had only held that same fire when he saw her last… perhaps the anger would burn brighter. Perhaps the rage would still be here in his hands as they slam repeatedly against the wall—denting the aluminum, smearing the blood within the binding of his gloves, making his damp hair kiss the skin of his soiled cheek—but it’s not. It is cold when the memories are warm.

So he doesn’t stop, even when his arms go numb and the howling in his throat finally dies.

_~S~_

Her fingers tighten on the armrests of the pilot’s seat, dread skimming the skin of her chest with hot, heavy hands. Chewie sits beside her, silent and contemplative as he stares into the blue of hyperspace, while she bites her lip, unable to keep the silence. “We can’t tell Leia.”

He turns to her, gaze laced with sudden concern. _Why not?_ He rumbles quietly.

Sighing, Rey leans forward, eyes scanning the floor as she keeps her voice low. A majority of the remaining Resistance members are still settling into the crew quarters and numerous holds, but she doesn’t want to risk being overheard by wandering ears. “No one but us knows about my…” she blinks, not finding the words, “... to the _Supremacy._ After everything she’s lost,” her brow lifts pointedly to her co-pilot, “we can’t add on to that. Not right now.”

A moment passes, until, _You’re right. So he… he really is gone,_ Chewie mewls.

The tears in his voice almost spawn her own, but she swallows them back with a shake of the head. She can’t think about _him_. Or, at least, she shouldn’t. Perhaps she never should have at all. “I don’t know. But what matters right now is rebuilding the Resistance.” Her gaze drifts over to the broken lightsaber rattling softly on the dashboard. “And making our next move.”

She waits about ten seconds before rising and returning to the main hold, where Leia sits thoughtfully, nodding to Poe—who kneels at her feet like a faithful servant. When Rey approaches, she waves him off, and Rey takes his place before her. It had felt strange to sit with her, side-by-side, even after they had done the same thing plenty of times before. But the guilt of failing her is too much at the moment, so she sits on the balls of her feet over the hard metal grates.

“Rey… Is everything alright? The course is clear, I hope?”

“Yes. We shouldn’t have any trouble. But, can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” Leia says, looking tired.

Her eyes are dark and troubled, and if Rey looks too deeply she’ll be reminded of where she’s seen them before. “Why Naboo? Isn’t that world a bit... populated? What if we’re noticed?”

Patting Rey's hand, Leia nods understandingly. “Don't worry. Naboo is an ally of the Resistance. And my personal code should reach our other allies in the Outer Rim. It won't be perfect—but it will be a start.”

Rey is not so convinced, but the certainty in the general's voice is hard to argue with.

Within the day they reach a cleft of land flanked by a stunning array of waterfalls, and settle into small rift of grass bathed in moonlight. Leia says they can take on the city eventually, but for now they will rest and go to the capital in the morning for fresh supplies and sturdier housing.

Night ages slowly.

In the cockpit of _The Falcon_ , Rey looks out over the waterfalls glittering blue through the pilot’s window until she just can’t stay put anymore.

She walks out into the grass, the roar of the falls thundering marvelously around her, drowning out the silence. A life on Jakku was nothing but lonely stillness, but the cacophony of water reminds her of the island. Reminds her of life and green. The brief peace she felt in the Force, before it showed her what true loneliness could be. Three moons accompany her, them and no one—

The world goes quiet.

—else.

After a moment, he huffs, snorting like some enraged animal preparing to charge. A breath of something she refuses to acknowledge as relief escapes her, morphing into stunned disbelief.

Is fate really so cruel? Is the Force?

“You couldn’t get rid of me that easily,” he mutters darkly behind her.

She keeps her gaze impassively set on the waterfall, but hears nothing besides the meticulous whir of whatever starship he’s on. She doesn’t care she doesn’t care she doesn’t _care—_

“Rey.”

Finally turning, she tries not to become disoriented by the stark-softness of his features. Scoffing in slight, she realizes he never fails to make himself look wounded around her. A predator in prey skin, no doubt. No less.

She knows that. She does.

“Neither could you.” Her face eases to match his. “Ben.”

Fists, gloved, clench and unclench at his sides, as though he doesn’t know what to do with them. She realizes that his voice is hoarse, his eyes red-rimmed and sunken. “Tell me where you are.”

“No.”

He takes a step. She can hear his boot make contact with solid ground, but it sinks into the grass. Keeping her eyes on his face, Rey shifts her stance, feet planted firmly on her side of their impasse. As she does, a strange sense assaults her. That this place means something more and that meaning lies hidden in the ground beneath her heels.

He’s close enough now that she’s forced to look up, but she won’t let him intimidate her. How could he, with that expression? With all she knows?

Raising a hand, his fingers flex out, as if to take the information he wants by cupping her face, but they retreat into his palm to form a trembling fist. “I won’t ask again,” he grounds. So gentle. So quiet, when his power is screaming across the galaxy—between a breath.

It’s an empty threat, so she takes a step forward, further from the pools she knows he can’t see. Closer to something deeper. “You won’t have to.”

Imploring eyes become hardened, sharp with the biting sandstone of power and will denied. She can feel his thoughts race, her refusal added to the gathering heap of failed attempts to sway her to his side. She may have been naive in her quest, but not anymore. To think of him as the Ben Solo she saw, to call him by that name… it will have to wait. So she turns around, resolved to ignore him as the bond conveniently peters and dies, leaving her alone in the darkness once more.

Surrounded by sound, but alone.

_~S~_

He’d been a fool. A fool in a futile cause, restrained. But now he is free, though not as free as he wants to be, what with his only living general squawking behind him about their obviously-diminished numbers.

Hux seemingly knows better than to bring up Skywalker. News has already gone out from Tatooine to Cantonica about the battle between Kylo Ren and the “last” Jedi on Crait, and Hell knows who else. _Hope_ is spreading through the galaxy like a weed, a fire that must be snuffed out, according to Hux. Kylo finds that he agrees with this, and sits back in his seat with roving eyes to catch and read every possibility that crosses his general’s mind.

Pacing in the war room of _The Finalizer_ , Hux finally stops. “We will have to go public.”

Dark eyes flit upwards, blazing in challenge. Snoke never went public, but then again, he is not Snoke. “The First Order has plenty of sympathizers,” he counters thickly. “What difference would that make?”

“Believe me, I don’t want to,” Hux sneers, nose wrinkling in blatant disgust. “I would rather not tarnish the reputation of the First Order with demeaning _propaganda._ But as of now the Resistance continues to endure, and _hope_ with it. If we want the chance to eradicate any further opposition, I’m afraid we must take it by any means necessary, even if that means taking nothing at all.”

Kylo’s first thought is that Hux will insist on another Starkiller, but he soon lets that pass on. Though Hux always admired weapons of mass destruction and their devastating effects, Kylo never wanted any more bloodshed than what was absolutely inexorable.

_Kill it, if you have to._

_I’d never felt so alone—_

“Supreme Leader? Are you listening?”

Rising from his seat to tower over Hux, Kylo fixes a glare on his beady, skittish eyes. He finds he likes the fear inside, but the title… He tries not to think about how hollow it sounds as he presses, “What do you suggest?”

Hux almost preens, not backing down as his mantra spills with practiced ease. “We must show the galaxy that the First Order will not tolerate resistance like that of the Rebels in a way that is both effective and alluring. A more subtle approach, perhaps?”

This was the last thing Kylo expected to hear from such a bloodthirsty little man, but continues to lend an ear. Hux is the closest thing to a strategic hand he has left, though he would no doubt try to kill his own emperor in his sleep. Kylo Ren may be many things, but he is not gullible. However... the idea of the First Order doing anything other than blasting planets is both unrealistic and intriguing. He searches Hux’s mind, finding only loyalty to his cause. Dangerous, but useful. “Go on.”

“Hm.” Were it not for his already well-endowed pride, Hux may burst at the seams with all of his revolting smugness. His lips fold into the smile of a man with all the cards, and Kylo prepares to use force to subdue the obvious giddiness in his crisply-uniformed shoulders. “Perhaps traveling to the Core systems will convince them? A show of authority to inspire loyalty, but not oppression. They will fear us, respect us, and turn away from the corrosive influence of the Resistance, given the proper... pressure.”

Kylo huffs, lumbering away to face the lazy stars floating past the bay window. The long game, then. _That_ is what Hux is proposing? A _power_ tour?

Yet, the more he deliberates, the more convincing it becomes. Snoke kept himself hidden from the rest of the galaxy, a shadowy figure pulling all the strings. _His_ strings. But now he is dead, and the First Order has been left behind in new hands. As he ponders, Kylo catches his reflection, seeing how the dark emptiness clouds the side of his face unmarred, leaving only evidence of who, _what,_ he is.

Perhaps a change of face is exactly what they need.

“Very well. I’ll prepare my ship and lead the charge to Coruscant.” Kylo shrugs his acceptance, preparing to barge through the door, when Hux calls after him.

“Wait! If you lead a charge, the public will only see you as a _threat_. Not a ruler—”

“What should that matter?” Kylo challenges, fingers twitching into a fist at his side as he turns to face his only remaining general. It never mattered before, when he would tear into planets and raise blood from skin. When he would war and rage and nothing more. “We were mere _weeks_ away from galactic control before Snoke was killed.” It’s a vain struggle to keep the muscle in his eye from jumping at the fresh memories. At the bare-faced lie. “To make a political stunt would only set us back further.”

“Supreme Leader, I _suggest_ ,” he hisses, “that you think about this very carefully. The galaxy is meant to become accustomed to order. Coruscant is not Resistance. Will they trust you to lead them if you point weapons on our own allies?”

Kylo pouts at that. He’s never cared where the allegiances lied before, only getting what he needed and leaving. Finding the map. Finding Skywalker. Sometimes there were ashes, sometimes not—but now, he concedes with a furrowed brow, strategy is the most important.

He doesn’t ease the tension in his shoulders. “Probably not.”

Hux resumes his pacing, placing his chin in his hand. “We will need to send someone ahead of us to represent the First Order. A face,” he gestures to Kylo, albeit timidly, as he ought to.

Sighing, Kylo’s frown etches into his cheeks. He’s never been one for politics or public speaking, no matter how easily words came to him, preferring the practiced ease of combat and flight. But in this case, it would seem imperative for him to take an extra step.

It _is_ his galaxy, after all.

_Don’t do this, Ben. Please don’t go this way—_

He swallows where Hux can’t see and nods.

“Then I’ll make the necessary preparations immediately,” Hux nods, leaving the room with a rapid pace to his orderly strides. Eager to escape.

This is it, then. The way things end. Kylo takes the seat nearest him, bracing his head to his hand, trying to hold his skull together by the temples. So it would seem that victory is within his grasp, but something else nags at the space between his eyes. Something that won’t leave him in peace.

_You won’t have to._

Rey. It’s barely been a day and already he’s beginning to feel the effects of whatever curse she’s placed on him. It was as he’d thought—their connection, this… _bond,_ is getting stronger. In his mind, he damns Snoke for tricking him; crediting himself for such an inexplicable thing. Snoke was no master worthy of him. Snoke, who couldn’t read his _every_ intent. Who knew nothing of how far he’s willing to go for himself and what he wants.

_I know what I have to do._

Where there was weakness, strength. He remembers those words with a stunning clarity, the paramount of truth beholden to him in his mind, the solid image of her at his side prevailing over everything else. The look in her eyes had been soft and warm, not unlike that night where he felt the solid flesh of her hand.

The memory pulses through him in the most foreign way. Intimately so. His skin thrums, alive and insatiable. But he cannot dwell on that now. When the time comes to face her again, whenever that may be, he will find a way to be rid of it once and for all.

He will.

_~S~_

“General Organa!”

Poe’s reverent call steals away both Rey and Leia’s attention. Within the security of the Inn, they had taken to looking out over the makeshift bunker of the building from the ivy-shrouded balcony. As it would turn out, the royal blood within the general has ties to that of Naboo, efficiently securing Resistance loyalties and secrecy. They won’t be found. At least, not easily.

But for fighters like Poe, it still sets one’s teeth on edge.

“What is it, Commander?” Leia queries, eyes sullen and prepared for the worst. But his reinstated title adds a lilt to her voice—so like her, always full of hope.

His hand moves as he speaks, emphatically driving home a point that raises every hair on Rey’s neck. “We’ve just intercepted new First Order transmissions. They’re sending Kylo Ren to Coruscant. Something about establishing a figurehead. Apparently Supreme Leader Snoke is dead.”

A sharp breath escapes both women’s lips, and for virtually the same reason. Kylo Ren, on Coruscant?

“If they take the Core systems, it won’t be long until they seize control everywhere else,” Leia says with a worried lip. Her voice drops to a near-whisper, Rey’s gaze falling with it. “We have to stop him before it’s too late. Poe,” she takes his wrists, squeezing, “did the transmission say how long it would be until he arrives?”

“Actually, it did,” he smirks, separating gently from her grasp to project a map of the known star systems on the ground. He circles a small area in the Unknown Regions with his finger. “This is where we’ve tracked their communication flow. From what I heard, the message said to expect the Supreme Leader anywhere between fourteen or fifteen standard days. Plenty of time to find and intercept him with a small fleet—”

“No,” Leia shakes her head, raising her hand to cradle their location on Naboo with a distant, pained look in her eye. “I… _We_ can’t risk losing what’s left of the Resistance in another firefight. We will have to be stealthy this time, Commander Dameron.”

“But we only have so many people capable enough to stand a chance in a stealth attack. Even if we send a small team, that would still be like sending one man against an army!”

Rey swallows. This is not good news at all. They still need to rebuild the Resistance, but the First Order is already moving in to claim victory. And if Ben—no, the Supreme Leader—was to reach the Core before them, then hope would be lost to so many in the galaxy… maybe entirely.

“What if we didn’t have to fight?”

Leia and Poe turn to look at Rey. “What?”

She points to the Core systems, finger trailing through the stardust of the hologram. “What if we sent someone to stop him _on_ Coruscant? Someone who could intercept him on-world rather than worry about losing more ships?”

Poe nods thoughtfully, crossing his arms. “That could work. The message _did_ say he would be arriving alone. All we would need is someone strong enough to take him down.”

The image of blaster-fire freezing in mid air seizes Rey like a vision, and Poe cringes slightly. Quietly, Rey sends an apologetic look he doesn’t see. She didn’t mean to peek inside, but now it’s clear that Poe has no intention of facing down the Force again. And if not him, then...

It would have to be someone who uses the Force. An equal.

“I could do it.”

“Rey,” Leia says darkly, turning and pinning her with an all-too-familiar pleading stare. “No. You’re the last Jedi, the only hope we have. If he catches you—”

“He won’t,” Rey says, tone more sharp and insistent than she intends. “The galaxy needs hope. If I’m the one to take him down, then maybe that’s the push we need to recover what was lost.” Slowly, she places a hand over Leia’s cool knuckles. The words are hard and heavy on her tongue. “I may not defeat him, but I can still fight him.” The general is silent, deliberating, and convincible enough that Rey feels the confidence to whisper, _“Please,_ Leia. Let me do this.”

Eventually, she sighs. “Alright, Rey. I trust you.”

The words both surprise and shame Rey, reminding her of the secret she holds close. She couldn’t tell Leia the truth before, and even now she knows that won’t change. This woman who has lost so much, who trusts her, can never know her failure. It would break the general’s heart, like it broke hers.

“There’s still one problem,” Poe frowns, face littered with blue lights. “If the transmission was false, and he’s surrounded by guards, we can’t risk taking a marked ship. Hell, just one fighter would be enough to draw fire.”

“Poe’s right. It’s still too dangerous to send you alone, Rey,” Leia sighs, eyes searching the Outer Rim with a vague glint of recognition. “It would have to be true stealth. You would need to arrive at the same time to avoid detection, and in a ship unnoticeable enough to slip past any surveillance.”

Rey bites her cheek, looking down into the intermingling of Resistance fighters and citizens of the capital, Theed. “Perhaps they could provide one?”

Leia shakes her head. “They are Resistance allies, but to gain even one unmarked ship would draw suspicion. People _come_ to Naboo, they don’t leave.”

Rey hardens her gaze, determined still. She has faced similar dangers in the past. Worse ones. She’s about to say so when Poe snaps his fingers. Eyes lit with stricken genius, he points upward. “What if that’s how we do it?”

The women turn to look at him. Leia blinks, straightening. “What do you mean?”

He walks around the map until he’s standing over her, smiling as he looks back and forth between his bewildered audience. “Naboo is a tourist destination, right? Arts and sciences, that kind of thing. Surely there is something, a transporter, that makes regular trips from here to the Core Systems?”

Taking in a shallow breath, hope fills Rey’s lungs. “Of course! With a neutral carrier, I could just disappear.”

_You’re nothing. But not to—_

She turns to Leia, who has that faint, starry look in her eyes once more. The general fists the handle of her cane, almost smiling. “I trust you to bring me as much information as you can, Commander.”

“I’m on it, General,” he nods, casting Rey a wink. Without preamble, he turns and runs for the steps, urgency slapping under his boots.

When he’s gone, Rey loses herself in the holographic map. It’s not unlike the one BB-8 showed her, the day she first left her homeworld. She finds Jakku, lost in the throng of Outer Rim systems, shimmering and so _small._

She always thought the galaxy was large. Sitting here now, like this, only reminds her of all the time she’s wasted.

_So afraid to leave._

_Get out of my head—_

Oh yes, the galaxy is large. So, so large.

_~S~_

It’s not dark when he closes his eyes. There are lights. Crimson. Blue. The blend between, reflecting in someone else’s.

The hologram appears in the corner of his chambers, facing away from him as he lays on his bed. The cold air is still and stale on his chest. Raw. Vulnerable. He shifts uncomfortably, which is not so uncommon in these miniscule chambers. “What is it, General?”

There is a slight click of the heels to stand at attention. Kylo nearly smiles. Oh yes, he’d been present for many… _conferences_ between Snoke and Hux. They usually ended in such enjoyable spectacles. He can sense Hux’s fear from his position out of sight, and decides to be merciful as the voice on the other end staggers and statics. “I’ve managed to procure you a room on _The_ _Supernova_. It will leave the planet Naboo in twenty standard hours. You have until then to give them your confirmation.”

So last minute. But it could never be said Kylo Ren wasn’t one for finishing things quickly. Naboo… he nearly groans. Of course it would be Naboo. But, if it means an easy arrival on Coruscant and an even _easier_ victory, then it could have been Chandrila for all he cares. “Very well,” he says. “That will be all, General Hux.” He sits up, the stiff, thin sheet scratching against his stomach. “Don’t make any advances until my arrival on Coruscant.”

“Yes, Sir.” The smug success ripples even through the small, shimmering image. Kylo reads it, seeing a willingness for patience and a sense of purpose in the plan. No trickery, as far as he can tell. Simply the eagerness of the hunt. The stalking, predatory patience the First Order truly represents.

Then the room goes silent, leaving him alone again. Lying down, he runs his hands over his face, up and down, covering himself in palms and fingers. Hiding his eyes from every color. It uncoils something, making his breathing deep and even and slow. But, somehow, his heart is beating swiftly. As though something is wrong here.

But there’s nothing wrong.

There’s not.

_~S~_

Rey reaches out, taking the blankets into her arms. “Are you sure you’re feeling alright?” She asks, an encouraging smile tilting into her cheeks.

The girl, Rose, nods. “Uh-huh!” There is nothing but sheer determination from the firm set of her lips to the bounce of her updone hair, one Rey can’t help but admire. “Better than ever.”

Hope. Rey is beginning to recognize it more and more. It’s a beautiful thing, never the same shade but always just as deep, no matter whose eyes they belong to.

She was the one Finn rescued, or rather, rescued Finn. They’s saved each other back there on Crait. “I can’t thank you enough for saving my friend,” she says softly, walking beside Rose as they cart out supplies. She hands a larger blanket to C’ai, nodding respectfully to the respected pilot. He thanks her in his home language as she smiles and moves on.

“Neither can he,” Rose responds, grinning to herself. Rey swears she can see her blush. When all is finished they stand side-by-side, and Rose settles her hands on her hips with a satisfied smile. “Look at them. All that’s left, but here we are.”

Rey’s heart stutters. “Will it really be enough?”

A round face covered in small bacta patches tilts up to look at her. Study her. Rey keeps her eyes on the shuffling crew members, counting no more than twenty, as Rose follows her gaze thoughtfully. “I think so.”

“How do you know?”

“Well… I don’t. But that doesn’t matter, because I know we’re going to win.”

Rey looks down, shame pooling in her gut, twisting like a knife. The memory of the past week, of all that’s changed, suddenly becomes a stone sinking through her very soul. She’s seen First Order legions. Watched helplessly as Resistance fighters were blown down one by one. _Helped their very leader rise to power._ She’d tried to fix things, but Luke was right. She was naive. And for some reason, she can’t help but want to scavenge Rose’s hope for herself. “But _how?”_ She presses, unable to hide the brokenness from her voice.

They find each other’s eyes, and Rey can see the wisdom and unquenchable faith in hers. “Because we aren’t running away. We might retreat, we might hide for a little while, but we’re not running.” She looks back at the Resistance, taking in a resolved breath. “We’re the spark, and that’s all that matters.”

Rey’s mouth opens and closes, unable to form a response. Her mind can barely register the words before a familiar voice calls to her through the crowd.

“Rey!” Poe hails. Finn is with him, swiftly trotting to stand by Rose after looking nervously at Rey. Poe holds up a comlink. “We managed to gather the flight codes from Theed, and we found the _perfect_ transport to get you to Coruscant.” He closes the device in his fist. “C’mon. The general’s waiting.”

A strange determination bobs in Rey’s chest, and she nods. “Right. Let’s do this.”

As she begins to follow Poe to the stairs, Finn takes her by the shoulder. His warmth bleeds into her exposed skin, but does not hide the wide eyes and furrowed brow. “Are you sure about this, Rey? Last time—”

 _“Last time,_ we made it out,” she finishes steadily. She covers his hand in hers, the familiar sturdiness and comfort resting there. Her smile stretches with effort as she takes in the eyes of her first, her dearest friend. “It’ll be okay.”

It’s a long moment before he slips away, as Rose steps up beside him to match his posture. “You’ve got this Rey. Don’t give up.”

She fights back tears as her gaze flits back and forth between them, taking in every inch and pore and follicle. Scavenging what she can like she never will again. Not thinking, only acting, her chin quivers and she turns fully, holding out her arms as they fall into them, bracing her but not holding her up. “Thank you,” she chokes, squeezing her eyes shut to hold back her tears.

Finn holds her tight but Rose holds tighter, their eyes closed and breathing in. Rey’s heart hammers, not in fear, and slows down to join theirs in the crush and closeness of something she’s never felt before. Sucking in a deep, shuddering gasp, she can feel it. The Force. The Light twining between them, and she knows here and now that they will never truly be apart.

The notion is enough to pull her away, to follow Poe with one last look back and one more spark of hope.

Leia is pacing in the small room, almost knocking into a nearby longseat as her thoughts draw her elsewhere. Poe enters with purpose, shaking her out of her trance. “General Organa, we’ve got the solution,” he intones.

She releases a trapped breath. “Good. What is it?”

Rey comes to a stop at the apex between them, looking to Poe as he discloses in a quick sentence, “The luxury star-cruiseliner, _The Supernova,_ will leave Theed in about eighteen standard hours, and if we hurry we could get Rey a room on board.”

There’s a beat of silence. Leia sighs. “A _cruise?_ Are you sure about this, Poe?”

“I am, because get this,” He holds up the comlink and gestures on nearly every syllable, as if that little device alone is the answer to every problem in the galaxy. _“The Supernova_ is on a direct, fourteen-day cruise-course to Coruscant, and will arrive almost _exactly_ at the same time as Kylo Ren. Rey would be able to sneak into the city completely undetected.”

“That’s…” Leia covers her mouth, sitting down, “...a remarkable coincidence.” She looks up to Poe in earnest, hand returning to its place over the other. “But a luxury star-cruiseliner… Poe, the Resistance simply doesn’t have the credits for that.”

Rey blinks, holding up a hand. “Wait… what’s a ‘cruise?’”

Leia looks up at her, as if realizing for the first time where Rey comes from. “It’s when people of many different species and origins gather to sail through the galaxy for pleasure. For a luxury liner... “ she shakes her head. “We could never afford that—”

“Excuse me, General, but you didn’t let me finish,” Poe grins, revealing his pearly teeth—just a little. “I used your personal code, and our political friends in Theed pulled some strings.” He turns to Rey, offering the comlink. “Just drop your name, and you’ll get a room. Courtesy of the Resistance Allies.”

A groan of sheer relief leaves Leia’s body and she stomps her cane once on the stone floor. “Well _done,_ Poe. The Force is with us, today.”

Rey eyes the comlink as though it were a foreign artifact, but it becomes simple once the weight settles in her palm. Poe tells her that the coordinates are all there, she just has to press the button.

Swallowing, she smashes her thumb and depresses it before she can think otherwise, listening as the device connects with an alarming swiftness. A soothing, feminine voice leaks from the speaker. “ _Thank you for calling StarTour Luxury Cruisers, this is Ta’ Ei. How may I help you?”_

“Hi,” Rey offers lamely, looking to Leia. Bless her, she waves for the unpracticed girl to keep going—and somehow she does. “My name is Rey. I believe there is a room waiting for me on _The Supernova?”_

 _“Oh!”_ Ta’ Ei startles. Papers rustle on the other end. _“Yes, of course. There is a standard room, low accommodations, including one refresher and bed available immediately. However, it would seem that all expenses are paid for. Would you be interested in upgrading your room?”_

Rey wrinkles her nose. She shouldn’t. It would be best to keep things humble. Stealthy. Besides, a bed is more than she could ever ask for. “Just the standard will be fine, thanks.”

_“All right. We just need your full name to complete the registration.”_

“Oh, yes, right, it’s… um…” Full name? Her eyes blow wide. Panicked, she looks to Leia for guidance, covering the speaking-end of the device with her hand. “What should I say?” she whispers, nearly a hiss.

Leia’s lips settle as her eyes rove over her face, finding something there. Rey can sense the connection gathering in her mind. She smiles softly. Wistfully. “Try ‘Kenobi.’”

Rey sends a curious second glance at the odd choice, but nonetheless pulls her hand away from the comlink. “Rey Kenobi,” she says. The lie tastes thick on her tongue, but it’s a necessary weight she will readily bear.

There are a few _clacks_ and _pings_ echoing from the other side of the connection. _“Thank you very much for your confirmation, Miss Kenobi. You have officially been registered in The Supernova database. If you wish to make any alterations to your room selection, please don’t hesitate to contact us. Is there anything else I can do for you?”_

She almost gushes at the kindness of this voice, not knowing what to say beyond, “No, thanks.”

 _“Thank you for choosing StarTour Luxury Cruisers; Have a super-day!”_ And, with a fizzle and a _click_ , the connection dies.

Poe pumps his fist. “Yes! Oh, this is wonderful!” He threads his fingers behind his head and bites his lip, as if to keep himself from bursting. His eyes retreat to the ceiling. “I’ll admit, I’m starting to be a bit jealous of you, Jedi Girl. Cruising the Core in style before such a monumental moment that will make history…”

He keeps going, but Rey loses his tune, finding Leia lost in thought. The Force wraps around her like a cocoon, and Rey knows why. That moment in history waits in the future, but it’s _her_ past. Heart and steps soft, she comes to sit beside Leia, and watches her face. Poe has found his way out of the room to share the good news, leaving them in silent stillness.

“Why ‘Kenobi?’” Rey asks after a moment, leaning close.

Closing her eyes, Leia breathes out slowly. “Because, a long, long time ago, that name was a symbol of hope. To me,” she smiles, shaking her head fondly. Her eyes find Rey’s, steely and resolved and so full of _yearning._ “I could think of no better name for _you.”_

Somehow, Rey knows this is not the first time Leia Organa has said those words.

_~S~_

He sighs, passing the device from one gloved hand to the other and back. He’s stalled long enough. With the proper coordinates in place, and a transmission-block inset to keep from tracking his location, Kylo presses the button.

It takes a while for the device to connect, and even when it does, all that greets him is the sadistic crooning of holding music. He almost recognizes the piece when a voice interrupts. “ _Thank you for calling StarTour Luxury Cruisers, this is Ta’ Ei. How may I help you?”_

Suppressing a scoff, he manages to keep his voice tempered and even. “I’m calling to confirm my reservation.”

_“All right. May I have your full name, Sir?”_

His mind immediately blanks, mouth sagging open in sudden devastation. Damn that Hux, he didn’t provide a name! And of course he cannot ask this person what his name should be.

He certainly cannot say he is Kylo Ren—too conspicuous and well known. He cannot very well say ‘Ben Solo,’ either, certain that the surname alone will cause an immediate exclusion. The plan would fall apart and he just needs a _name—!_

Then it hits him at lightspeed, tumbling out of his mouth before he has a chance to reign in his tongue. “Ben Kenobi.” He winces. A memory of his mother appears before him, the memory of his namesake nearly making him hurl the comlink in response to the red unfurling in his vision, but he forces himself to hold it. His hand is trembling.

 _“Oh!”_ the voice on the other end squeaks. Suddenly there is a strange pleasantness that wasn’t there before. _“Oh, I see! Thank you for calling, Mr. Kenobi. Yes, your reservation has been confirmed just recently. One standard room, low accommodations, including one refresher and one bed—”_

“‘Low accommodations…?’” he echoes, as though he hadn’t heard correctly the first time.

_“Would you like to upgrade your room, Sir?”_

Kylo looks around his chambers, eyes falling on the bed barely large enough to fit _him._ Memories of a life lived long ago bespeak cots, tents, and tiny cottages, always squeezing to fit.

But he is the Supreme Leader now, and damn it all, he will sleep like one.

He holds the comlink up to his lips, eyes dark and shining with satisfaction. “Yes. Give me the room with the largest, most _comfortable_ bed.”

There is a strange sound on the other end, almost as if it were made in a combination of delighted shock and hidden understanding. There is a lilt to the speaker’s voice once more, coated in mirth. _“Right away, Mr. Kenobi.”_

Fast clicks and a _ping_ sounds from her end, and Kylo waits. Impatient, yet smug. That Hux thought he could get away with anything less than his leader required. He scoffs. The fool.

_“All right, Mr. Kenobi. Your room has been upgraded to our last-available luxury suite, and includes one galactic-bed, deluxe refresher, four-person sizzle bath and a red-giant viewscreen deck. Is there anything else I can do for you?”_

“No,” he answers, borderline serene and _quite_ pleased with himself. Finally, a dwelling worth staying in. He can already picture himself reclining, staying still and undisturbed in the silence, alone with his thoughts. Perhaps this little _excursion_ could be more preferable than he’d thought.

He ends the call before she can finish her departing mantra, finally tossing the comlink away. It lands harmlessly on the bed he has no intention of revisiting.

Because, in two weeks time, he will have everything he wants.

He will.


	2. Reservations | Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cupcake enjoys herself, until she doesn't; Beefcake is having a hard time with tourists; I wonder if they'll learn they're baking in the same oven...

She sucks in a breath at the sight of it. Years of empty ships and barren hulls have not prepared her for this.

The _Supernova_ is easily the size of four star destroyers, its bulging size hovering over the oceans of Naboo and forcing sea spray into the air. Small starships and sky cabs flit like birds across the sky, casting shadows like rain as she shoulders her bag and sets for the loading dock.

Several lengthy staircases jut and kiss the massive pier, hoards of individuals of every imaginable breed and beyond inching little by little up the steps, waiting their turn for processing. It’s perhaps an hour before she is almost to the top, looking over the edge of the rail and out into the place where blue meets blue.

It’s a beautiful place, this planet. It’s almost like what she dreamed of.

But there is something off in the air, a stiffness that weighs on her chest. She doesn’t have time to consider it as she is summoned by the clerk.

The creature’s trunk presses against a pad of red felt, coming away wet and bloody-looking. Rey flinches when it says in Basic, “Name.”

“Rey… Kenobi,” she replies, keeping a strong hold on her belongings. It’s no more than a change of clothes, Han’s blaster and a broken lightsaber. Her heart seizes when she wonders if they will confiscate it.

Beady, black eyes too far apart to be humanoid blink twice while they roam the registry. The creature hums curiously, and presses the trunk into the paper. Rey watches as it bleeds red and her name disappears into the white. Just as it fades, a machine _clicks_ and spits out a shiny metal slip no bigger than her finger. The receptionist hands it to her with its trunk. “Here is your room key. Number is on the side. Enjoy your trip, Mrs. Kenobi.”

Rey smiles, clutching it tight. “Thank y—wait. _Mrs.?”_

“Next!”

Stumbling over her words, Rey is bounced away by an impatient figure with four arms, all clutching bulbous bags. She catches her footing again as she walks into the tunneled entrance with a shrug. It must have been a simple slip of the tongue. Nothing to take too seriously.

The tunnel is long and decorated with historical paintings. She glances at them, taking in the images of the history of the _Supernova._ She latches onto one with her eyes, admiring the small image of the star-cruiseliner sailing into what looks like a sea of stars.

It’s best to keep moving, though. So she does, leaving the dark tunnel for the bright light of the main deck.

The place is _massive._ Rey’s eyes can’t widen enough to take it all in. Bouncing in her boots, she picks a direction and walks in it, looking around.

The main deck itself seems to be separated into three tiers. She is on the middle tier, nearing the balcony and looking over the edge. It’s a sea of life roiling beneath, colors and shapes and languages. Bright and big and _beautiful._

A voice is calling and coercing somewhere nearby, and she follows a wave of passengers towards it. An orange, male… _something_ hands out small booklets to passerby. As Rey nears, he catches her eye and extends one of his eight, spindly limbs toward her. _“Kya’kota?_ Brochure?”

She smiles and nods, toasting it to him as she moves on. _“Yyon’ ta._ Sure, thanks!”

As she walks, Rey comes to the outskirts of the crowd, sitting on an unoccupied bench. She plops her bag at her ankles, keeping it close as she opens the brochure. It’s impressively thick. Leia warned her that such a place would boast many activities to sap her meager credits, so she doesn’t bother looking at them, flipping to a map of the ship.

As she studies, it seems that the _Supernova_ has five decks. The first, at the base, is the “activities” deck. Whatever that means. The middle, where she sits, is the “communal” deck. The third is the “resort” deck, branching out in spokes that lead to the rooms of every passenger on board. The fourth is simply a branch of the resort deck, it would seem, and the fifth is the “sky” deck.

“Hm. Well, I’ll have two weeks to see them,” she shrugs. Taking her bag and shouldering it, she follows her map and the various holo signs scattered about the deck to one of the lifts. Poking the button, she waits on her heels until the doors slide open.

Squeezing in beside a behemoth, she folds her lips in the quiet courtesy of any elevator companion. The number on her key begins with a “4,” so she presses for the fourth floor. The behemoth gives her an odd look, and she avoids his gaze. Perhaps he is judging her for the undoubtedly meager conditions of her room, unknowing of what life is like with less.

She chooses not to dwell on it.

_~S~_

Ben growls, carding a hand through his hair. Just the look of the ship’s exterior is gaudy and imperialistic. No doubt the inside is just as much a tourist trap. The line up the steps is tortuously long and he doesn’t know if he will be able to stand two weeks of this madness.

The trip to Naboo was quick and easy. He hadn’t been caught or flagged, just as he’d thought. Naboo is buzzing with last-minute travel and he can’t help but remember a time when this planet was more respectable. He refuses to look out into the ocean waves when he is high enough to try, knowing that what he’ll see will just be another memory.

He clutches to the thought of having a luxurious suite all to himself, considering his eventual arrival on Coruscant. In his pre-delivered suitcase lies his regular garb. He’ll be damned to don some garish piece or golden robes.

But, of course, that left need for a wardrobe. The feeling of air on his hands feels foreign. It’s a sensation he hasn’t known in years. He feels naked, even in his ash tunic and dark, padded trousers and boots. The outfit is ludicrously casual, as are the rest waiting for him in his suite, but, as Hux _insisted,_ necessary. There would be no use causing a scene. But his lightsaber remains on his belt, and in a simple glance into the minds around him, no one seems to notice.

He’s next and he might just flip the table. A Raphelent presses its trunk against the inkpad, lingering over the page as it looks him in the eye. He knows these creatures can sense malintent, so he keeps himself calm. “Ben Kenobi,” he lies smoothly.

The Raphelent simply stares, and for one moment Ben is concerned that he will need to resort to force after all. But then it blinks, scanning the page and finding his false name with a practiced lethargy. Following it, he notices that there is a gaping space right beside the slot. Before he can consider the strange position, he is offered a metallic strip. “Here is your room key. Number is on the side. Enjoy your trip, Mr. Kenobi.”

 _I won’t._ “Mm,” he grumbles, lumbering into the tunnel. He doesn’t bother with the showroom. Some history about _innovation, community, progress and adventure._ It’s all ridiculous fanfare, meant to sell the product.

He straightens a bit at the thought of his suite. The idea of slipping into a darkened room, sprawled and lazy on a grand bed, calls to him with an old instinct of denied indulgence. It almost makes shoving through the crowds bearable.

He bypasses the shops where people linger, passes the benches and false shrubbery, looking for a sign. His dark eyes flit about and find their target—an elevator opens just in time for him to stride through, pressing the button he senses will bring him close to his goal.

Passengers, small ones, share the lift ride with him for only one moment, departing on the third floor and leaving him alone with his thoughts.

He catches his reflection in the elevator’s mirrored surface. His eyes are sunken and dark underneath from lack of sleep, his frown deep-set and hair less than coiffed. But the scar stays the same as it feels like it always has. He touches it with bare fingers, following it to his jaw before he can be tempted to claw at the haggard skin.

Ben never hated her for it. Kylo didn’t, either. It was the first night anything had ever touched him. Marked his skin so profoundly. It healed the best it could, now standing puckered and proud down his cheek. The irony of its placement on his face is not lost on him. He knows he’s never truly been whole.

But he’s been close.

_~S~_

Like she’d seen on deck three of the map, the fourth was in a spoked design. The halls were dimly lit and oddly barren. Elegant patterns carpeted the floors, small chandeliers dotting the ceiling and leading her like posts.

Her bag is getting heavy, but she’s carried heavier scrap over longer distances. She searches the rooms for the number matching her key, and thinks she might give up. She’s searched very long hall. Not knowing where else to go, she starts with the seemingly endless circle that rims the ship, keeping her eyes trained on each door.

The place is silent save for her footsteps, and Rey nearly jumps out of her skin when a form appears in the corner of her eye.

Her heart leaps into her throat when she recognizes him. For an instant, she believes he’s truly there. But then reason takes over. This must be another connection. The Force was never too courteous with its timing.

He seems to be looking at something, but is not talking. His clothes are different—his shirt a dark grey that clings to his broad shoulders, traveling down his torso to end at his thighs. The rest of him is the same, outside of his bare hands clenched at his sides.

Rey comes a bit closer, then stops, crossing her arms. “You won’t win.”

Ben jolts, shaken from his thoughts when he turns to see her with those same, wide eyes. He looks mortified for a moment, probably like she had, then composes himself. “What are you talking about?”

 _His voice sounds so clear. As if he were here in person,_ she thinks. The connection must be getting stronger as time passes. Jutting out her chin, Rey gathers her voice from the bottom of her heavy lungs. “I know about Coruscant. You won’t win. I won’t let you.”

He doesn’t even bother to look surprised. “Of course you won’t.”

Rey balks at his sarcastic tone, wondering where he pulled that from in the darkness of his masked persona. As she does, her breath hitches. He walks closer—just a step. The connection really _must_ be getting stronger. She can feel the heat from his body, even across galaxies.

Ben’s thoughtful eyes rove over hers, then her face. She stiffens; he might as well be touching her. “Maybe I won’t win. But _we_ could,” he suggests, voice soft and encouraging.

Folding her lips, Rey closes her eyes. Looking at him is the same as spurring him on. She keeps that in mind when she shakes her head. “No, Ben. I’m done helping you.”

“I don’t want your help.”

She glares, gaze dark. The way he’s utterly _refusing_ to do the same just pushes her further to the edge. She doesn’t want to fight him, but… in two weeks time, she won’t have a choice. Distancing herself from what she feels… it’s the only option she has left. “You don’t have to want it,” she brushes off cooly, crossing her arms and looking off to the side. She tries not to overreact at the sight of her room number printed in the shining gold plate upon the door. He’s standing right in front of it—in her way.

“You think I need you,” he states, matter-of-factly.

Rey’s heart plummets and he probes her. Not with his hands, or even his mind. Just looking. She may never get used to the feeling. It’s not the look of an enemy, or even a friend. Something _else_ that she cannot dwell on when her mind just falls back to all the looks that came before.

She drops her arms to her sides, her chin to her chest. “No,” she nearly whispers, trying not to cry. She’s never been needed by anyone but the Resistance. They needed her for this. To defeat the evil Kylo Ren. She wrings her hands into her trousers as she tries to bury that fact until it can’t be unearthed again.

But Ben is faster. “Then you’d be wrong.”

“Don’t act like you know what I think,” Rey growls.

He scoffs, glancing flippantly at the floor. “I’ve seen your mind, just like you’ve seen mine. You know that’s not how this works.”

Rey sighs, long and loud. If he were really here, she would slap that stupid look off his face. The man is just _infuriating._ “I don’t have time for this. I have a mission to complete—”

As she speaks, she pulls out her room key. Ben’s eyes snap to it and his lips fall open, gaping in disbelief. Rey doesn’t register it beyond his mirrored movement, as both of their hands reach for the scanner to the room. Their fingers brush and sparks shoot up Rey’s arms, firing off every neuron in her brain that tells her to run and stay at the same time.

Someone’s key works, blinking green and opening the blast door to the room. With one traded look, they wrestle inside. Ben is stronger, his height and legs working against her as he strides into the room, looking back to watch her follow as if she were a terrifying insect hell-bent on striking.

Rey’s heart races as they stop, the doors sliding closed behind her. Her breathing is almost as heavy as his, echoing off the walls like it did that first day, as the realization bathes her in cold, hard, reality.

Ben Solo, Kylo Ren, is on the _Supernova._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait on this chapter, ya'll. College is hard. But updates should come more frequently; your responses are so cherished.
> 
> All my love,
> 
> avidvampirehunter


	3. Resolve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beefcake and Cupcake are not okay with being in the same oven. Will one be burnt to a delicious crisp?! WARNING: SEVERE SASS AHEAD.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey ya'll, sorry for the wait. This chapter was going to be longer, but college decided to actually college for once. Weird. Anyway, I'll see you at the bottom! *hugs*

He doesn’t move, frozen in place by the impossibility of it all, the sheer _awe_ of her. “You—”

 _“You!”_ Rey duets, voice higher than the heart in his throat.

This is no good—the mission will fail because she’s here, and who _knows_ how many Resistance members have tagged along with her! His eyes scan the room and there, to his right, his suitcase sits in dark, polished Corellian leather. Her eyes copy him, even when they stare at each other again, and he lunges for it.

Kylo’s not shocked that Rey runs for the door, muttering vague gibberish under his breath as he struggles through the endless compartments. Damn damn damn damn _damn!_ He should have guessed she would know about Coruscant, somehow. She’s clever and resourceful and for one foolish moment he’d forgotten.

Then, _there._ He grabs the emergency comlink he’d packed and flips it open, rising to pad in the coordinates to the _Finalizer,_ when it flies from his hands and straight into hers.

She stares at him with more shock and fury than he can manage. Her eyes darken and the panels are crimson-lit behind her. She wasn’t running—she was locking the door. The realization makes him pause before he intones, “Give that back.”

“And let you call the First Order here? Hurt all these innocent passengers?” She scoffs. “I don’t think so.” As she speaks, he prepares to retort, but is trapped in a groan when she slams the comlink against the wall, reducing it to nothing more than sparking scrap.

He doesn’t want to reach for the lightsaber at his hip, so he stands at attention instead, hands down at his sides. “Let me off this ship and you won’t have to worry about that.”

“...No,” Rey mutters, blinking rapidly. He may have done the same if it didn’t mean taking his eyes off her. It feels almost nostalgic, watching her pull that old blaster out of her bag and point it at him. “No, you’re coming with me. I’m bringing you back to the Resistance.”

Working his jaw, Kylo fights the plunging sensation in his chest. “For execution.”

“For containment,” she insists, tone softening.

He sneers, though it’s nothing more than a twitch. “You’re hardly a jailer.”

It’s an attempt to see if she’s brought allies, but she either sees right through it or ignores his intentions altogether. “Were you expecting a chair? Handcuffs?” Her grip tightens on the blaster. She’s shaking. “I know _I_ wasn’t.”

A feeling he’s known all too well as of late floods him, sinking his eyes to the tips of her boots. She’s wearing what she wore when he first saw her in that inexplicable way, right down to her toes. But her hair is different. The way they left it. He almost apologizes because of it. Almost. “I don’t want to fight you, Rey, so don’t make me.”

“Don’t act like you’re the one in control, here,” Rey warns, training the blaster on him again. There’s that tone again. He can feel her fear radiating off her in waves.

It irks him. While she should be afraid, he wishes she wasn’t. Unless it’s something else, which he doubts. Not seeing any other choice,  he steps closer, one stride at a time. She backs up, closer to the door, but otherwise holds her ground as he nears until the blaster’s barrel is pressed to his chest. It’s small, hard tip presses into his sternum like a brand. “You call this control?” he whispers. There’s no bite to it. No edge. He knows when he’s been beaten and he hasn’t, yet.

For a moment she looks like she’s going to shoot, until her chin trembles and her arm falls.

Kylo considers taking it from her before she can change her mind—as she often likes to do—but a rumble disrupts his thoughts. She bumps into him and he catches her by the arms as a muffled voice calls over the crackle of some distant intercom.

Wide eyes trade concerned looks as the realization sinks into both of their bedraggled minds.

The _Supernova_ has taken to hyperspace.

Rey rips from him, backing further into the room. His touch lingers on her arms, seeping through the cloth like an acid burn. The blaster hangs limply at her side, but she clings to it. A new lifeline in this chaotic twist of fate. Of the Force.

Kylo sighs under his breath, resigned with a cool flow in his blood. Rationale grips him again, fading in the throbbing pads of his exposed fingers. He’s touched her before, a few times actually. But after all that’s happened… it feels different. Searing.

He probably shouldn’t do it again.

“What do we do?” she asks softly, bewilderment and fear mixing a dark brew in her eyes. He senses her trepidation quivering through the air.

“I’m not sure,” he answers. He didn’t even think about doing anything besides fleeing back to the First Order, the relative safety of the _Finalizer._ But, with his comlink broken and sizzling on the carpet, he doubts that will happen anytime soon.

So he does the only thing he can do—he scopes out his quarters.

Kylo walks past her, eyes surveying the room. Rey watches him closely, not trusting any footstep. That lightsaber sways at his hip as he enters the foyer, his face upturned.

The ceiling is high enough to accommodate his long frame, something he appreciates. The room is as that receptionist promised—everything seeps _deluxe accommodations._

There is a common area, lengthy leather couch and chairs presented before a giant holo-screen like sacrifices to an altar. Nearby is what he assumes to be a ‘fresher, as the blast door is frosted and crystalline.

Rey follows after him. “This is not the room I requested,” she huffs, eyes blown wide at the sheer width of the place. In the corner she notices a strange pit in the floor, surrounded by gauges and a control panel. She walks over to it, yelping when a shelving unit emerges proudly from the wall. Folded towels and crisp linens assault her nose with an odd pleasantness.

Kylo regards her a moment as she studies the sizzle bath. Of course, she never would have seen a hot tub before. Perhaps she will be shocked enough to allow him time for escape. But that will need to come later, when that blaster is out of her hand.

He preoccupies himself with turning around, meeting an impressive jamb archway. The pillar is sculpted in dark marble, swirling elegant blacks and browns. Beyond is his salvation, and he eagerly bursts forth.

Hearing the shuffling cloth of Kylo leaving the room, Rey snaps from her probing around the tub. She follows Kylo through the arch, halting in her tracks. “Is that… a _bed?”_

Kylo’s dark eyes flicker as he studies the dark, imperial sheets. He traces a finger over the covers, met with a heady softness that could make a man cry. “Yes,” he answers stiffly.

“It looks like a landing pad,” she murmurs. This “bed” could _easily_ rest five people with room to spare, she marvels, staring at the massive headboard.

Taking a breath, Kylo inclines his head to the ceiling in a silent gesture of praise, to whom, he doesn’t know. The Force, maybe. But he curses it, too, because at this rate he won’t have a chance to use it.

As he looks up, his heart grinds to a halt in his chest, blood running cold.

There’s a mirror on the ceiling, stretching from end to end and reflecting _everything_.

Rey walks the length of the bed, trailing her hand over the soft covers. She… she could never have imagined something so expensive. She wonders if it will be hard like the benches and cots she’s grown used to, or soft and comforting like she’d dreamed as she swayed year by year on her hammock.

Suddenly, she finds a folded note. Pinching the card-stock parchment between her fingers, she holds it up for inspection. “‘Mr. & Mrs. Kenobi,’” she reads aloud, heart sinking. “This… this can’t be possible.” She whirls on him. “What did you _do?!”_

Indeed. What _did_ he do? There’s a mirror on the ceiling.

Rey doesn’t notice it, though, eyeing his odd posture. His eyes are wider and face paler than usual, jaw slack and lips parted. She holds the card out to him. “Explain this, Ben!”

This snaps him out of his trance, and he snatches the note from her and reads it. _Mr. & Mrs. Kenobi, _ lies plain as day in curved, elegant script. _They clearly know their calligraphy,_ he admires, but such a thought is drowned out by his sudden realization. His eyes slide closed. Keeping them open any longer is just begging for a curse. “You lied about your last name, didn’t you?”

Rey crosses her arms, hackles raised. “I told you to stay out of my head,” she warns.

“I don’t need to read your mind when I have _this,”_ he hisses, eyes simmering as he holds out the card for her inspection. “Was _this_ your plan? To trap me here?”

“Of course not!” Rey huffs, pursing her lips. He hates the way her cheeks puff like that, as if she weren’t a threat under all that soft skin. Then she deflates, searching his eyes. “It was Leia’s idea.”

“So _she’s—”_

“I don’t have a last name, Ben,” Rey interrupts. “I don’t know who this ‘Kenobi’ man was, but he obviously meant a lot to her. We were pressed for time.” Her brow quirks, and she digs her knuckles into her hips. “So why did _you_ use that name? Or was it _your_ plan to capture me again?”

Kylo blanches, blinking, but he won’t let her deter him. “No. This… it’s just transport. Or it was supposed to be.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“I can’t use the Kylo Ren name on a transport like this without being recognized. I required an alias,” he mumbles, looking away. _Idiot,_ he chides. It had come out before he could think of anything else, that damn namesake spewing from his lips when he’d abandoned it long ago.

“Why not ‘Ben Solo?’” She challenges, voice softening.

Now _his_ brow lifts. “With Han Solo’s reputation?”

Her arms fall to her sides, face placid and resigned. “Oh. Right.”

He cards a hand through his hair, pursing his lips. “Look, Rey, it’s obvious that we are going to be... _together_ , for a while. But you don’t want that,” he points, stepping closer, as if proximity will let him have his way. An old intimidation tactic he prefers to the ritual choking. “So let’s make a deal. You get your own room, and I stay here.”

Rey scoffs. “And let you run off?”

“You’d know all about running, wouldn’t you?” he challenges, voice dark and deep.

It was the wrong thing to say. Rey puffs up again, hammering the barrel of the blaster in her fingers, up and down like a warrior and her battle ax. “It’s my mission to capture you, Ben. So, until we land on Coruscant, _I’m not letting you out of my sight.”_

“Oh really?” Kylo crosses his arms, looking her up and down. As he deliberates, taking in her fierce expression and the inexplicable scrunch of her nose, a thought comes to mind. Perhaps going along with her delusions would be better than resisting. She hasn’t shot at him yet—a blissful development in its own right.

He’s only known Rey for three days, if he could call it “knowing.” Kylo’s eyes narrow, still taking her in when he realizes he truly thinks he _could_. He’s seen her memories, knows her deepest fears, lived her past in that one transcendent moment when they were more than two lonely people in the galaxy. He’s memorizes the strong slope of her jaw, her high cheekbones and hopes, her vibrant gaze that stared at him the way no one else had.

So, as much as it’s tempting to read her mind, he resists. Perhaps it would be better to rely on intuition and experience. He goes with his gut, despite the way it wrings, and shrugs. “Fine.”

Rey blinks. She hadn’t expected him to be so… willing. Ben is strong-willed, almost as much as her, she’s certain. She doesn’t trust this sudden shift. It’s too _convenient._ “What?”

“Is there sand in your ears? I said ‘fine.’” Restraining a smirk, Kylo turns and goes to investigate what the receptionist called a “red-giant viewscreen.” He clasps his hands behind his back, staring out at the stars that scroll past in lazy blinks. They must have jumped out of hyperspace. The viewscreen is more like a bubble, protruding from the room and casting a strange light throughout the room. He can see Rey’s reflection behind him, staring incredulously at his back. He keeps his eyes trained forward, every inch a Supreme Leader—outside of his contemporary garb.

Rey watches him carefully. He talks much more than he usually does, surprisingly sharp-tongued. She hopes that won’t be an issue, but is prepared to hold her own. If there’s anything she’s learned in the last week, the galaxy, the Force, and Ben Solo are full of surprises. “Hm. Good.” She stuffs the blaster in her bag, stretching her arms.

She leaves him to go to the other room, looking around for resources. Struck, she cracks her knuckles, pushing one of the thick leather chairs with a grunt. It resists the trip across the carpet, but eventually she parks it in the doorway, facing the bed.

Kylo stops studying the table lamp to stare at her. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?” She snips, parking herself into the cushion. She wiggles until she’s settled comfortably.

“It _looks_ like you’re sitting on a chair.” It looks like a damn fire hazard, but he doesn’t say so.

“Congratulations, there’s a brain behind that big nose,” she smirks, yanking her bag and settling it in her lap.

He pouts. She watches him like a bird. It’s unnerving. “Well, stop.”

“Nope.”

His hands clench and unclench, voice calm. “Stop. _Please.”_ He draws out every syllable, letting it drown in false sincerity.

“Uh-uh,” she holds up a finger. “I am going to watch you. This is the best way to do that.”

His shoulders droop, slightly. “You plan on sleeping there?”

“Like I’d sleep.”

Sighing softly, he turns away. This woman… she’s… He waves his hand dismissively. “Fine. Suit yourself.” He strides closer, and for one moment Rey is terrified he’s going to loom over her, but he doesn’t. He brushes past and she maneuvers to her knees to watch him rifle through his suitcase. He pulls out a book, and stops at the entrance of the ‘fresher. The frosted glass slides open as he looks back at her with a wicked gleam in his eye. “Going to watch me in here, too?”

Heat rises in her cheeks.

He rolls his shoulders, far too pleased with himself. “Didn’t think so.” With that, he disappears into the ‘fresher, and Rey hurls one of his pillows at the door.

_~S~_

He stays in there for hours. It’s evening before he comes out, hair wet and dripping onto his shoulders.

Squeezing past that damn chair, he looks down. Rey sleeps soundly, clutching the blaster tight. Her soft snores echo through the arch like a concert dome.

He watches her. Somehow, he’s always watching her. Catching himself, he towels his hair and slaps the book on the table.

Rey jolts, blaster up and eyes wide. She settles seeing him harmlessly leaning against the headboard of that ridiculous bed. But, “Why is your hair wet?” she probes.

He lifts his eyes from their place amongst the peeling sheets. Praise the Force, they're black, too. Silken and every thread worth his screaming-tired body. He blinks. “I took a shower.”

She looks him up and down. “A what?”

He shouldn’t be surprised. Huffing, he takes his book and opens it up, gesturing at the frosted screen beyond. “Go see for yourself. You’ll probably like it.”

Rey skewers her lips, onto his little scheme. “As if I’d let you drown me.”

“It would take a special talent to do that,” he replies, sinking into the pillows. He arches his neck, closing his eyes to avoid that stupid mirror and, maybe, set this feisty scavenger at ease. “One I don’t care to harness.” He cracks one eye open, finding her gaze shifting curiously to the towel around his shoulders. “...I won’t run.”

Rey looks back at his face, blinking. Her fist tightens on her bag protectively, strangling the straps.

He has never lied to her before. Not that she’s aware of. She wants to believe him, the strange tenor of his voice and sincerity in his eyes. He just keeps _staring,_ willing her to challenge him and refuse him like she always does.

But Rey doesn’t pride herself on being predictable.

She takes her bag with her, watching him closely as she backs into the ‘fresher door. It slides open while his eyes slide closed, and she bites her lip. Maybe just a quick investigation wouldn’t hurt.

Before she can convince herself otherwise, she perks her ears and listens for any sign of betrayal beyond the door. She travels the length of the grand refresher, ogling the pristine white tiles. A long mirror stretches over a counter, at the end a sink and a commode. Across from that is a big glass box, a spigot similar to the one on that tub’s jutting where the wall becomes ceiling.

She steps inside. The ground is wet. She looks at the drain, stooping and finding long, black hairs clinging to the grate. “A shower,” she muses. So, what, it rips out your hair while it’s wet? “Hm,” she hums, unimpressed.

Rey looks up at the strange metal spigot again, then notices two dials with arrows. If she’s learned anything from the occasional manual found in the Starship Graveyard, she knows that arrows are drawn to be indulged. She cranks one of them, listens to the hidden pipes whir, and is immediately drenched in cold water.

She yelps, running from the spray with hands over her head. The droplets come cold and fast, and she growls like a dampened loth-cat. Water pools at the bottom of her boots as she watches, amazed.

Slowly, she holds out her hand. The water is still cold, falling evenly and coating her palm and fingers in a sheen of clear, hydro-oxygenic perfection. She smiles, wrenching it away and following her feet back into the foyer.

“It’s _endless!”_ She cries, pointing behind her as she skirts past the chair. “It feels just like rain, only it turns on and off! Can you believe—” she stops, every word dying in her throat.

Book open on his chest, Ben lies still on the bed. Rey might have thought him dead were it not for the steady rise and fall of whatever he’s reading from his even breaths.

Feeling brave, she walks closer. He decided to sleep on the edge, close to the table lamp. He must have fallen asleep with it on. Under the light, she looks down at his face.

He looks… peaceful. Deceptively so. His sooty lashes flutter against his generous cheeks, face dotted with dark constellations. It’s an interesting type of face, one she’d brushed off when they first met. But with his head crooked to the side, lips parted as though in permanent awe, damp hair strewn over his temple, something in her chest tells her head she was wrong.

She smiles, just a bit, and turns off the lamp. She picks her way through the dark, starlight shining from the viewscreen, and settles into her chair. She flinches, though, not recognizing a foreign consistency.

Reaching down, she realizes—as the softness goes on and on— that it’s a blanket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your wonderful support. I honestly didn't expect to be so well recieved! Hopefully I can deliver the goods.
> 
> Anyway, the first night aboard the Supernova has ended. Every chapter in this fic will take place over the course of one day. So, obviously, there will be a limited number of chapters. (I'm guessing 17...)
> 
> Also, this time apart from you lovely readers has finalized the plot. I know how this garbage fire ends, I promise. Until then, why don't we play a game?
> 
> Every chapter title has a double-meaning. The "first chapter", "Reservations," refers to reserving a room and feeling reserved about a certain course of action. This one is "Resolve," so you get the idea. As the chapters go on, I'd love to engage with you guys more. So if you can guess the double meaning behind the next chapter title, I'll mention you in the notes.
> 
> Chapter Four is titled "Indulgence." 
> 
> There. Hope you all have fun with that. This could prove a fun game *wicked laughter.*
> 
> Thanks again for all your support. It means the world.
> 
> All my love,
> 
> avidvampirehunter


	4. Indulgence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beefcake and Cupcake have a little domestic. Then Cupcake is introduced to her first buffet! But uh oh... the dark chocolate boy is scheming... will Rey foil his dastardly plot?!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, that took a while.

He doesn’t sleep.

The days where he once could are long behind him now, traded for moments of near-rest at different intervals. He hears her turn off the light, feels her feet pad across the floor to sit her vigil, and remains still all the while behind his deceptive, even breaths.

Her snores don’t come—he feels her thoughts spiraling in lazy circles, entertaining old daydreams he leaves undisturbed. She doesn’t know that he is still awake, drifting in and out of himself in meditation—the closest he can get to the age-old bliss of sleep. The nightmares don’t come for him, here.

As he sinks into the state of darkness within himself, the events of the previous day wash over his mind, clamoring to input data as subtle as possible.

In an effort to reach Coruscant, the most influential planet in the Core systems since the Hosnian Cataclysm, and announce his takeover as Supreme Leader of the galaxy, he and General Hux arranged a neutral transport to avoid detection and the inevitable Resistance. Though Kylo did not like the idea of leaving his general behind, knowing that the weasel may decide to scheme, he detected no desire to strike. A shocking sentiment. Still… it only made sense that Hux would wait until ultimate power was already in their grasp before attempting a coup—he was just that type of man.

So, to avoid any unnecessary scruples, Kylo Ren, Supreme Leader of the First Order, packed a   
bag and boarded the  _ Supernova  _ for a fortnight of travel in secret luxury. A celebration, he may have come to believe, of his victory _. _

And, as the Force would have it, so did his mortal enemy.

An inexplicable thing that should not have surprised him as much as it had. The Resistance must have caught wind of his departure; Rey obviously knew about his intentions to invade Coruscant. And the Resistance, his mother, sent her to—undoubtedly—attempt to stop him. A foolish decision. He would have defeated her easily.

But…

He sighs through his nose, unable to help himself. His frustration is mounting, and he needs to keep himself calm. Though he knows that emotion is the well from which he draws his power, he also knows that this is not a good time to let his anger take control.

Rey’s power is immense. Unlike him, she relies on the energy she draws from around her, even other people. Even himself. He would have to be foolish  _ and  _ blind not to see how she scavenges his abilities whenever she wishes.

Her resolution to keep him under surveillance for the rest of this journey is maddening. She meant what she said, it seems. However, the girl is prone to changing her mind at the last second. Perhaps he learned that from her, as well.

They take from each other. That’s all they’ve ever done. That’s what he wants to believe. And now, as he feigns innocent sleep with a gun to his head, he may need to take something that can never be returned.

Since the moment they met he never wanted to kill her. He can admit that to himself. Admit how shaken he was by her impossible strength, the remarkable potential lying dormant there. Dark Side instincts took over, the desire to see that power reach its fullest potential, embers stoked to a roaring fire by the mastery of his hand. She would have burned bright—they could have burned it all down.

Together.

It’s what he wanted, more than anything, when she reached back for him. In that one moment, when he saw how she was discarded, bones left to dry in the Jakku sands as she waited, lied, and wished. He knows loneliness—she saw it in that interrogation room. Snoke was right. He couldn’t hide it from her. And when he saw that Rey was like him… for one moment, he’d allowed himself to hope.

It was the wrong thing to do.

Now he lies on his back like a helpless dog, held on a leash by her trigger finger. He could paralyze her, but his ability to stun can only go so far. His lightsaber rests on his hip beneath the sheets, so he  _ could  _ deflect her shots, but to escape he would have to turn his back, and there is no way to know if she would cut him down.

Bile and flame rise in his throat, reminding him of his mistake. He trusted her, once, and she betrayed him. Fled from him the moment he opened himself again, allowed her to see inside. What foolishness, he realizes, that he allowed his feelings for her to stand in the way of his destiny. Though his choice to help her led to his fulfillment, he never once thought  _ beyond _ saving her. It was so easy, in hindsight, to lose himself in fantasies of them together, their power washing over the galaxy like a mighty flood. Consuming, changing, reshaping things into the way they were always meant to be.

Yet here they are, enemies again.

Concentrating on subtly—which, given, has never been his strong suit—he senses Rey in the room and probes her. She is comfortable, yet on edge. She probably enjoys that blanket as much as he can enjoy these sheets. It’s a bittersweet tang that he will have to spit out.

He can’t kill her. He knows that. He could hold her at the point of his saber all he wants, tell himself that she is the only thing standing between himself and order. Snoke always told him that his destiny was to eradicate the last of the Jedi.

It only made sense. Vader was the last Sith Lord—the master and the apprentice gone—erasing the Sith once and for all. And, though Snoke was indeed powerful with the Dark Side of the Force, he was no Sith. Neither is Kylo. With Luke gone, the last Jedi master has been eradicated from the galaxy.

But the student remains.

If she could be turned, somehow… if she could be made to see that the Jedi and the Sith were no different, if she could repent of the ancient ways and embrace what awaits her, the glorious power of  _ both,  _ then maybe… maybe…

He continues these thoughts, rolling them over in his mind, and realizes how ironic it is that  _ Rey _ is the one who ensnared him, and now  _ he _ is the one trying to run. The paradigm shift of her is, as always, wild and untamed. She’s as unpredictable as he is and, while he respects and has openly admired it, that will not do.

For now, he decides, it would be best to play along with her scheme. Let her think she has the upper hand and slip away once the opportunity presents itself. He will find the First Order. To Hell with Hux’s plan; he will storm into Coruscant and demand allegiance. Besides, who needs delicacy with Kylo Ren at the helm?

This appeases him for the moment, and he settles down into the pillow, allowing his meditation to deepen and give him as much rest as it will allow.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow, he will find a way to leave this place, and the girl, behind.

He will.

_ ~S~ _

Rey nibbles at her lip, watching in awe as the  _ sun  _ rises beyond the viewscreen window.

That shouldn’t be possible, out in the recesses of space, and she gawks as the pink and orange hues of sunrise stream lazily across the carpet. As she ponders, she reasons that it must be manufactured sunlight. Perhaps a system of day-and-night cycles for the ship’s passengers? It’s incredible—the generators must be massive!

Ben stirs, and she clutches her blaster tight, watching his long legs bend at the knee, rising the sheets in a shifting wave as he rolls over. His book tumbles with him, closing with a ludicrously loud  _ thwup,  _ and he pauses, eyes fluttering open and staring blankly at the mattress.

Rey doesn’t move, not really knowing what she should do. Should she rouse him? Force him to stay within the confines of those sheets? By the way he ogled them the night before, a part of her wonders if he would cooperate with that.

Then he sits up and looks directly at her.

Perhaps she should have been prepared for what she sees. The rumpled fabric of his loose shirt, hanging low on his neck, is somehow more scandalous than when she’d seen him with none at all. His hair is fluffed, damp strands loitering around his cheeks, whipped over his always-tired eyes. They burn when she looks at them, melted down and pulling her with them into an endless, glittering darkness.

Her frown fades into wonder as her eyes sweep over him.  _ He looks so human _ , she muses.

He scoffs, shifting balance from his palms to lean back against the headboard, moving his hair out of his face with those long, thick fingers. “Isn’t that what makes me so monstrous to you?”

Rey tries not to focus on how low and graveled his voice has become, but the low cadence shakes something down in her chest, wrestling with her defiance. “I’m not sure,” she answers.

She watches as he ponders to himself, unable to get a good read on his thoughts. He bats her mental efforts away like pesky bugs, flicking at her consciousness until she finally relents.  _ Fine. Let him think all he wants. He won’t be going anywhere. _

He rubs the inner corners of his eyes, groaning. “Must you project so loudly? It’s too early for this…”

Pausing, Rey sits up in her chair, one hand on the blaster and the other fisted in the blanket. “What do you mean  _ ‘project?’” _

Kylo’s hand falls heavily back onto the bed, a gesture somehow more exasperated than his half-hearted glaring. “Your thoughts. You’re practically smearing them on the wall.”

“Yeah, right,” she mutters.

“It’s true.”

She fixes him a cold glare, shooting daggers into the smug heat of his anchored eyes.  “Well it’s not like I can stop  _ thinking.” _

His brow twitches, as if he’s amused with some private joke, and he glances over to the viewscreen. The light shines in his eyes like gold. Unnerving. “Holo-generated solar atmosphere. Impressive.”

Even more unnerving.  Ben thought the same as her, and what’s worse, it only took him a few seconds.

“Don’t be surprised. Unlike you, I’ve actually seen what this galaxy has to offer.”

Her nose scrunches before she even realizes it. “Stop. Doing. That.”

The faintest smile twitches on the edge of his lips, and she swears she can feel him enjoying this. He stretches faintly, rolling his shoulders and beginning to peel off the covers. “Let me go and you’ll have nothing to worry about—”

“Stop!” She snarls, holding the blaster level with his chest. “Don’t move.”

He halts, as commanded, and folds his lips with an internal groan.

“I’ll have plenty to worry about,” she grumbles. “I don’t have to read your mind to know you’ll go straight to the First Order. Or worse, bring them  _ here. _ ”

He looks like he’s torn between bowing and throwing himself out of the viewscreen. That conflicted soul of his that Snoke spoke of flickers between them, warning her that she is crossing lines he has no patience for.

Too bad.

“And if I said no harm would come to the passengers?” He offers, tone laced with poison.

“I still wouldn’t let you off this ship.”

“… I see,” he sighs. Then, with a twitch of his fingers, her blaster flies out of her grip and into his waiting hand. When she gapes in surprise, he considers the barrel. It’s small in his palm. “This was my father’s.” He turns it over in his hand, frowning. “He was never Force-sensitive. He feared the things he didn’t understand.”

He’s lost in another world. Before she can think, she scrambles to her feet, holding out her hands to pull his saber and the book from his possession. They land heavily against her chest and she clutches them tight. As he glares, she holds the pages hostage against the unsheathed hilt, preparing to activate the blade. Scavenger instincts kick in—protect the hoard. “Drop it, or I destroy this… this…”

He twitches, sitting fully upright, as if dragged. His eyes are wild and fierce as he growls, “Give it back.”

Rey loses her breath, heart stilling its relentless thumping against her chest. She hadn’t thought twice about it—books bound by parchment are a rare enough commodity in the galaxy. It’s what the rumors said as they weaved in and out of Niima Outpost. And, the way he kept it close, guarding it in the night atop his breast…

“It’s a Jedi Text,” she whispers, blinking rapidly as she stares down at the worn, grey bindings.

Kylo balks, shocked by her knowledge, before he deflates, toying with the blaster in his hands. She can feel his mind churning, air roiling hot like the breeze before a storm. “Skywalker. He showed them to you.”

“Yes,” she replies, too worn and tired to hiss. Yes. Too tired. She lowers his lightsaber, far too big for her hand, and scours the cover in awe. “I thought—”

“—That he had them all? No. There were ten. Well, legends of ten. We found that one on a planet in the Unknown Regions. The rest were believed to be gathered in the first Jedi Temple.” He winces ever so slightly, as if pained by a memory. “On his island.”

“And you just bring something like  _ this _ along for a bit of light reading?”

“When it suits me.”

Rey shudders, the odd sensation of the Force twining around her fingers as they clutch the spine. Both arms dangle at her sides as she frowns at him, uncertain. He still hasn’t moved and now, with weapons swapped, she feels completely at a loss. Her thoughts clamber for a course of action, finding nothing other than—

There was a crystal in the middle of her—well, perhaps not her—lightsaber. A blue gem that, given its placement over the power cells, is obviously the source of the saber’s blade. 

Huh.

She turns and bolts into the other room, pawing at the side chambers of Ben’s deactivated hilt.

He calls after her, but she ignores him. The whole thing is crude, as if made by a novice—not that she would have a right to judge. But it was also made for easy modifications, and with a twist, hiss and  _ clack  _ the chamber opens to reveal a cracked, orange crystal.

His shadow looms in the archway, and she flinches as he bellows, “What do you think you’re doing?”

Feet fast from their practice running on shifting sands, Rey races through the frosted blast door and into the ‘fresher, discarding the useless hilt by throwing it at his head, and slides across the tile.

She’s cornered herself. Genius. But no—no, she has to be resourceful. The crystal sparks and blisters against her palm, making her hiss in pain.

She has to get rid of it. This weapon is without a doubt the deadliest on the ship, and as long as he has it, no one is safe.

So she looks around. The drain to the sink is too small, and so is the shower. The waste bin won’t do, and that leaves—

Oh. Oh,  _ yes. _

“No!”

Her clutched hand rests outstretched over the commode, trembling as she dares a look up at his face.

The blaster is nowhere in sight and his boots are on, finger crooked and leveled like a blade at her fist. His eyes blaze as he realizes what she’s about to do. “Don’t you  _ dare,” _ he snarls, gritting his teeth. The man is vibrating, his rage rolling off him in waves that batter against the walls of her mind.

Well.

She drops the crystal and it plops into the still water. As he rushes her, she throws herself onto the lever, and the swirling current pulls it under.

“No!” he roars, kneeling at the lid. But it’s too late—the stone is gone.”No, no, no,  _ no!  _ Do you have any idea what you’ve  _ done?!” _

“I just saved everyone on this ship—from  _ you!” _

His head bows, defeated, over the toilet, long locks almost touching the rising water. “That…” he puffs, as if this whole experience has wounded him, “was... a  _ priceless  _ artifact...”

She crosses her arms, ridiculously proud of herself but unwilling to stand down. “It was dangerous.”

Still on his knees, his bare hands tremble, the rim of the shining commode cracking beneath the sudden pressure. Then, without pause, he holds his hand over the bowl as it quakes with invisible effort.

Rey watches him for a moment, and scoffs. “Are… are you trying to pull it  _ back?” _

He doesn’t respond, concentrating hard.

Her face screws at the lips, pride unmarred by his childish attempts. But he seems preoccupied enough for her to back out of the refresher. She almost trips over the lightsaber hilt, useless now, that she threw at his head. Fear spikes through her, and she looks around.

The blaster is gone, and so is the book.

His suitcase hasn’t been touched, and she has no intention of rifling through his things. Unlike  _ him,  _ she isn’t nosy. Well, not the  _ bad  _ kind of nosy…

“You won’t find them,” his voice sounds behind her.

She gulps, turning if only to keep her back from him. His voice rumbles low and dangerous, tilted on an axis of near-madness, yet he does not raise his hands. Ben’s eyes, normally so simmering and dark, are only sunken and tired.

He sighs, carding a hand through his bedraggled hair, fingertips snagging at the curls before he clenches his fist at his side. He looks like an admonished child, bouncing his arms at his sides, and it sets Rey on edge. This whole situation has, for lack of better words, gone to Bantha-spit. 

She’s about to challenge him, force him to tell her where her blaster is hidden, but he turns on his heel and goes for the blast doors. “Oi! I won’t let you escape!” She snips, fists clenched within the arms crossed over her chest—as if that would help anything now.

He turns to look at her as if she’s gone mad, hand lingering in the air as the blast doors slide open with a stiff hiss. “...I’m hungry. I’m getting breakfast.”

Blanching, Rey’s jaw goes slack. He looks… open. Honesty and weariness rolls off him in waves, as if he’s swum through the Sinking Fields to avoid drowning in the depthless sands. An effort that, unfortunately, she knows all too well. But what’s more is, perhaps, his words.

Rey knows what it’s like to feel hunger.  _ True  _ hunger. And, even if this were some scheme, she could never deny another person that. 

Besides, now  _ her  _ stomach is beginning to riot, lighting a fire under her ribs. She frowns, uncrossing her arms and scanning him furtively. “Fine. But I won’t let you out of my sight.”

“No,” he murmurs, more to himself despite his wide eyes, turning and lumbering out into the hall, “I suppose not.”

Rey is quick to follow him, keeping close behind his long strides. He must have some real confidence, turning his back on her like that. She knows he cannot hurt her, not unless she lets her guard down. Their power in the Force is too evenly matched—physical strength doesn’t matter, given the appropriate distance. So it would only make sense that he wouldn't try anything. 

At least, not yet.

But now she’s short her advantage. Han’s blaster is somewhere in that room. If she wants to get it back, she will have to wait for Ben to return to their…

She suppresses a shudder when the elevator doors open, as Ben waits for her to go inside. She doesn’t humor him, and she could swear he rolls his eyes before going in, two fingers smashing the button for the main deck. When the doors close they are alone, the feeling of worldless gravity rushing from the soles of her feet to swim at the base of her skull.

The last time they were together like this… It wasn’t too long ago, but it feels as if so much has changed. At that thought, looking at his blurred reflection in the durasteel, Rey feels stones sink in her chest. Ben… No,  _ Kylo Ren,  _ is the Supreme Leader of the galaxy. Yet here they are, something not quite enemies, sharing an elevator ride on their way to a meal as if none of this ever happened. Him wearing clothes any man could wear.  It’s baffling.

When the lift doors open he is out first, near-shoving past a trio of giggling Twi’leks. Rey huffs, keeping on his heels, and wonders how far they will have to go to find food. In her experience, you either trade scraps for portions, raid Luke Skywalker’s fishing supply, or wait for a Resistance member to pass out even  _ more  _ portions. 

Given the balmy, illustrious atmosphere of the massive ship, Rey highly doubts any of those methods will be necessary.

Kylo frowns, Rey in his wake. Her presence is stifling, even in the midst of the roiling masses. All manner of creatures, mostly human, roam the communal deck. He looks around, searching for something he can recognize. Everything is too bright and extravagant for his tastes, more boisterous than anything decent. Of course he is aware that a star-cruiseliner epitomizes sales and flashing lights, but for Force sakes, he needs to eat.

Then he sees it—the perfect place to put his plan into action.

It’s not much of a plan. Kylo has never been one for tactics beyond  _ hit the thing until it dies,  _ but apparently this entire enterprise will be a test of his stealth. 

Very well.

In his meditation, he predicted that Rey would do something rash. He didn’t expect her to disarm him by way of flushing a precious kyber crystal, but that only solidified his need to escape the  _ Supernova.  _ Glorious bed or not, remaining with Rey sets the base of his skull aflame, spreading white-hot fire through his veins. Hate, anger, something else, churn inside of him and scream for him to run.

He has only run away once in his life. He’d thought it would be the last time. But…

They enter the generous space and he can feel as Rey’s senses are overwhelmed by the sheer  _ smell _ . He stands with her at the entrance as her eyes widen to take in the scene before her. “What is this place?” she asks, awe lilting her voice, tipping quietly in his ears.

Ah yes, this plan may yield some positive results. “A food station where you serve yourself. It’s called a buffet,” he adds, the word strange on his tongue.

Rey begins to breathe heavily, her pupils dilating and full of promise. Perhaps, if he looked close enough, he could see her drooling at the corners of her pretty mouth. Already her allegiance to his surveillance is wavering, her feet desperate to carry her to the steaming smorgasbord. Her loyalty doesn’t carry her further than her eyes, however. Kylo sets his shoulders and strides inside, reaching for a plate from the offering tray. It’s small in his hand.

“What are you doing?” she questions, watching carefully as she comes to stand beside him. The pane of protective glass shielding the food shows her reflection—she’s torn between his face and the offerings.

“Getting food,” he replies, taking a set of prongs—the kind for beings with opposable thumbs—and stirring around inside the first bin of broth. It’s a type of breakfast noodle from one of the Core systems. As he heaps his plate full, Rey’s eyes follow his actions all the while, as if it were the most incredible thing in the galaxy. 

Something in his chest constricts, and he wonders just whose heart is beating inside.

He points the tongs to her plate. “Take one.”

She obeys almost instantly, to his great surprise, and he offers the tongs to her itching hands. She copies his earlier movement, though she adds more noodles than he did.   _ She’s a quick-learner with tools, _ he muses, moving down the line.

The restaurant is filling fast with the morning-cycle crowd, each slogging through the doors to join the shifting patrons. While Kylo reads over the different offered nutrients, selecting mainly protein and carbohydrate-based items, Rey takes all she can, disregarding the writing in favor of what appears to be the most colorful.

Somehow she manages to balance five plates on her arm, stalking Kylo to a table in the corner. He pulls out the chair for himself, sitting as Rey struggles to jostle it away with her foot. Then an idea lights behind her eyes. It wobbles and shifts while he watches, fascinated, and the Force drags the chair along the floor for her to sit.

Kylo unravels his utensils. “Clever trick, for a Jedi.”

Her last plate clatters onto the table, and her eyes rise in challenge. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He leans back, noncommittally picking at a pair of fried eggs. Avian, the menu said, and by his guess, a big one. “A real Jedi wouldn’t use their power so flippantly.”

“What makes you say I’m a real Jedi?” she asks, voice low and oddly reverent, as if he’d complimented her.

Kylo pouts, taking a sharp bite of his egg and chewing fervently behind his thoughtful lips. He doesn’t know where the thought came from, beyond Skywalker’s ominous promise. And her allegiance to the light. He’s dug himself into a hole he can’t climb out. “Just eat your food,” he mumbles.

Rey leans forward, food forgotten for one moment as she drags his eyes to hers. “What makes me a Jedi, Ben?”

“If you’re asking me to teach you how to be a Jedi, then you’re wasting your time.”

“I don’t need you to teach me anything,” she huffs, on the verge of laughter. Or tears. “Especially not that.”

He quirks a brow, sitting up a little straighter. The way she bends over the table, and how his waist tips to meet her, brings them dangerously close. “Then you won’t need an answer.”

Her eyes unfocus in the way they do when she processes his words, and they scan over his face. He feels oddly bared to her when she does that, even though he knows she is pacing within the borders of her own mind. He is in no danger of being discovered—only falling back into the same patterns.

She brings that out in him.

When the words are finished, Rey turns her attention to her food. Kylo wonders if he put her off her appetite when she reaches her bare hand into the plate, picking up a runny strip of meat and folding it into the mouth with a huffing groan. Her energy flicks like a switch, turning all of her efforts to her plates, devouring them one by one.

She’s a ravenous eater. Ben pauses the lift of his fork to his mouth, simply watching in awe as she manages to put away enough food to feed a battalion of Stormtroopers. She slurps her noodles, chomps her vegetables, tears into her meat and moans around the sweeter fruits—never once touching her utensils.

He finishes his first course fast enough to avoid suspicion, and rises with his empty plate. Rey barely glances up at him, too distracted with swallowing her broth.

Calmly, Kylo paces back the way they came, discarding his dirty dish in the provided bin and rushing out the door. As soon as he leaves the restaurant, he nearly runs, head on a swivel as he takes in his surroundings.

He puts as much distance between himself and Rey as possible, feeling her light pulsing in the back of his mind like a beacon. Being closer to her has done something to their connection, and he doesn’t know what it is. Though fascinating and definitely worth studying, such things should be left for another time.

No matter how much he may want to turn back.

How many years has he spent wondering what could have been, running from that to what could be? He must think of the future now. Of the destiny that awaits him, and not her. No matter what he wished or hoped, what he wanted, he cannot be consumed by the overwhelming sensations rippling through his body just by being near her. 

Her influence is too potent—the Light too strong in her. That’s all it is, all it could be.

Eventually he manages to pick his way back to his… their… room. He digs in the pocket of his sleeping pants—he never bothered to change—and groans, tipping his head back in silent despair. He forgot his key. Of course he did, so distraught was he by the loss of his lightsaber. The hilt remains just beyond the door, but he’s running out of time. Rey has definitely discovered his absence by now, and is more than likely on her way to intercept him.

Very well—the plan will simply have to move onward.

He makes work of the staircase, if only to avoid the elevator. It’s long and somewhat treacherous, thin, white grates glaring and blending down the endless flights. Within the hour he manages to enter the lowest deck. According to most ship regulations, this is where escape pods are to be primed in case of emergency.

Winding through backwards halls and past even more shopping centers, he tries to focus on his purpose rather than the maddening business of the deck. The whole place is ceilinged-in, sealed in grey and fluorescence. It’s like a second sky above him, and the sheer girth of it does nothing for his hopes other than the ability to blend in. Which isn’t too difficult—some of these creatures are bigger than  _ him _ .

Then, by some miracle of the Force, he finds an Information Kiosk nestled into a corner between a small, sandy gymnasium and beverage dispenser. He leans over the desk, waiting for the—thank the Force—small man to notice him.

He adjusts his spectacles, their round, rosy tint reflecting Ben’s long face. “Can I help you?” he asks, all nose.

“I require an escape pod.”

“Yeah, right, like that’s going to hap- _ ugh!”  _ the man laughs at him, a soft, scoffing chuckle immediately cut off by a crushing windpipe. He paws at his throat, glasses falling of to reveal small, beady eyes. 

Kylo squeezes a bit harder before releasing him, bending a little lower to sear him with a gaze. “I said: I require an  _ escape  _ pod.”

The man rubs at his throat, red blooming in his cheeks. “I’m sorry, Sir, but I don’t have clearance for that…”

Kylo snarls. This isn’t going as he’d planned. Then, suddenly, he can feel it—her light, growing brighter in the back of his mind.  _ Where are you where are you  _ echoes dimly in his thoughts and suddenly everything becomes  _ terror _ . 

She’s looking for him. While some distant part of him is elated by the potential this notion brings, he knows it won’t take long. But… there is one option left.

He lifts his hand, focusing hard as he waves it back and forth in the air, mentally wiping away the foggy outer layer of the man’s consiousness. “You will give me a comlink.”

His eyes fade and become glassy. “I’m sorry, Sir. That’s against company policy.”

Kylo growls, but tries to maintain his focus. Though a bit of a prodigy with mind tricks in his younger years, he’s spent too much time taking thoughts rather than planting them. He tries again, slower this time. “You will give me a comlink,” he enunciates, tightening his gaze.

“I don’t have one…”

Ah. Damn. Well then, Kylo will have to try another tactic. Besides, if Rey finds him with a comlink, she’d likely try to choke him with the Force. An interesting concept, for another time. He rolls his shoulders, breathing in, and deepens his voice, feeling the satisfying ooze of persuasion drip off every syllable. “You will send a comlink to room 4999 before the day is out.”

“...I will send a comlink to room 4999 before the day is out.”

“You will have no memory of this conversation,” he pauses, “or my face.”

“I will have no memory of this conversation. Or my face.”

Close enough. Kylo Ren releases him, turning and striding back into the crowd. Victory burns the soles of his shoes, igniting every step with purpose. He’s won. No matter what Rey tries, when they return to their room tonight, he will escape this wretched tourist trap and rejoin the First Order to claim his rightful place as Supreme Leader of the galaxy.

Suddenly, her presence halts. Kylo pauses, looking at his surroundings. He does not see her nearby. Her flickering presence, though stronger, is still faint. 

That won’t do. If he wants to return to their room, he’ll need the key she’s carrying. He knows it’s in her bag—a Scavenger’s habit, perhaps, never to lose anything, even something so small.

It takes time he doesn’t want to spend. She’s still on the communal deck, it seems. Perhaps she wandered off in search of him, and became distracted. He passes shopping centers and food stalls.

The deck itself is arranged in an ovular layout. The entire floor is set up like a village in any modern Core planet, though with a touch of earthy tones and quaint, seaside aesthetics. The cobblestone ground fancies itself a street, stones ranging from grey to brown and back.

He’s surrounded on either side by a wide river of passengers who weave in and out of shops. They duck under lights strung from onnings to lampposts to false shrubbery. Security guards eye him for nothing but his height and permanent frown, but he doesn’t mind them. His eyes are wide, busy searching his surroundings as he gradually walks the lap around the ship.

He doesn’t finish it, though, caught by a familiar presence twinkling inside a nearby establishment. Without pause, he follows it inside.

The place is small, and relatively unoccupied. By the smell of the place coupled with the low light and slogging instrumental music playing from some invisible speaker, he doesn’t need to guess why.

After all, it’s still too early for drinking.

She’s sitting at a bar. Her and her grey tunic and trousers, detached sleeves torn on the ends and battered by salted breezes he’ll never taste. Her hair down like that is still such an oddity to him. Somehow, perhaps, he’d thought she’d always be that girl in the snow. A warrior.

But now her face is taut. Torn. A mental struggle he can’t define wages within her, and he decides not to remark upon it. Instead, he walks up and sits on the tall stool beside her, leaning on his elbows without looking at her face. “Decide you wanted a drink?”

“I got thirsty,” she says quietly.

He glances at her. “You haven’t ordered anything.”

She sits up a bit straighter, suddenly on the defensive. As if called by some silent bell, the bartender appears, four arms crossed over his burly chest. “What’ll it be?”

“Something with fruit, please,” she smiles politely. The bartender is gone in parsecs.

Kylo remains quiet. Stewing. The air is cold on his arms, the rumpled neck of his shirt too low compared to what he’s used to. He folds his fingers together, and catches Rey looking at them. 

No matter how many times she makes that face, he’ll never understand what it means.

“You just… disappeared,” she whispers, not catching his eyes.

“So did you,” he counters, voice softening. Perhaps it would be unfair to bring it up now; the way she denied him—twice—and left him for dead without a word. Perhaps he could tell her what those memories do to his chest. Perhaps he won’t.

“Maybe I’m just used to it,” she shrugs. The bartender returns with something bright red and bubbling, the foam at the top popping and fizzing into the air. It catches her eyes, lights them with curiosity as she takes the slim flute in her fingers.

While she studies it, he studies  _ her _ . “I know what it’s like to feel abandoned,” he mutters, just loud enough or her to hear. 

This catches her attention. She looks at him with those big, vulnerable eyes. They sink like stones into his mind and he finds he has nothing to hide. Not from her. 

But Rey does not probe him further than looking at his face. “You threw your family away,” she says simply. Like she’s reading off the price of her breakfast. 

Setting his jaw, he turns from her. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“No, I suppose I wouldn’t,” she snips, bringing the drink to her lips. She takes a tentative sip, eyes sparkling as she swallows. Kylo watches this, fascinated and surprised by her daring—but realizes that… oh…

“And you would embrace yours?” he challenges, pointing at her flute as she lowers it from her lips. There’s the thinnest trail of scarlet left behind that makes his heart hammer against his ribs. Roaring.

She pauses. “What do you mean?” Then she follows his gesture, face falling open as realization dawns on her. 

The light in her eyes dulls and fades into something incomprehensible, and Kylo regrets it immediately. He opens his mouth, berating himself for forcing her against the truth. It’s what he’s always done. Always hurt her. Why should he feel any remorse, now?

“This…” she whispers, staring at the bubbles as they rise, unaware of the woman watching them. “...they sold me… for this?”

Kylo swallows. He should apologize. He shouldn’t. He feels no shame in telling her the truth, in pointing out the ways this galaxy conceals things from her, and how she hides them from herself, but there is shame in the sorrow. The inexplicable desire to offer  _ comfort _ . 

Like when he first met her—why couldn’t things just be  _ easier?  _ “Rey—”

She cuts him off, bringing the rim to her mouth and tilting her neck, closing her eyes and swallowing it down before slamming the empty glass upon the bar.

The bartender walks up to take it. “Another?”

“No. Thank you,” she grounds, pulling out a few credits and placing them on the table. She doesn’t wait for her change, turning and walking out of the bar without a second glance at either of them.

Kylo is up in an instant, following her closely as she stalks along the false road. She seems to know where she’s going, toes and boots leading her through the masses as the holographic sun begins to lower itself into a night-cycle. The lights glow and blur, and Kylo watches as Rey stumbles in her footing every hundred paces or so.

In the elevator, Rey leans her head back against the durasteel. They share the ride with a few different creatures, until they are alone again on their ascension to the fourth floor.

Mind buzzing, Kylo tries to keep his mind focused on his goal. Once Rey unlocks the door, once her fatigue consumes her, he will escape. It’s the only option he has left—his final window of opportunity. It wouldn’t matter that this plan failed. He would merely overtake the galaxy by Force, as he should have done from the beginning.

“You’re very tall,” she says suddenly, eyes squinting and roving over him.

He looks over his shoulder at her, meeting her scrutiny. “You’re very observant.”

She blows a raspberry, waving him off as the doors slide open. Kylo doesn’t move to leave her, watching raptly as she meanders out, each step heavier than the last. Strange behavior for her, but he ignores it, walking along behind her as she picks her way across the burgundy carpet.

It takes five minutes for him to realize she’s inebriated. No matter how tall she is for a woman, or how much she ate for breakfast, there will always be a drink stronger than her. “Come on,” he mutters, encouraging her onward by taking her arm. It’s slender in his hand, and one might think it frail if they weren’t careful. If they didn’t already know what she was capable of.

What beautiful things.

They reach the door and Kylo tries to take her bag, intent on finding the key himself, but Rey smacks his knuckles hard and finds it herself—after much rooting. She presses the metal stump against the keypad and the blast doors slide open, both of them entering much slower than they had the first time.

Rey immediately bumps against the wall of the small entryway, rattling an unnecessarily large portrait of some flower he didn’t notice last night. “Where’s the blaster?” she groans, blinking furiously at the floor.

Kylo scoffs low in his throat. “You need to rest,” he suggests, herding her over to her little camp. He holds up the blanket in one hand, gesturing with the other. “Sleep here—what are you doing?”

Eyes closed and head tilted, Rey waddles towards the untouched side of  _ his  _ bed, sitting on the edge and smoothing her hands over the cover. “So  _ soft _ ,” she gasps, lengthening the “o” until the word tapers off into a reverent hiss.

Kylo frowns. “That’s not yours.  _ Hey.”  _ He stalks closer as she lays down, burrowing her nose into a pillow. He looms over her like a shadow. “That bed is mine.”

Ignoring him, Rey settles her cheek over folded hands. “Well it’s mine now,” she titters, smiling to herself.

He crouches until he is face-level with her, unrelenting. Sure, he plans to escape, and perhaps letting her fall asleep now would be the final nail in her coffin. He contemplates and decides that yes, she should sleep, and when she wakes she will have lost—

“You have pretty eyes.”

He blinks, thoughts not only brought to a screeching halt, but hopelessly derailed. Her eyes find him in the yellow lamplight, dark and wide and searching. “What?” he asks, mouth open slightly, as if it could help him hear her more clearly.

She smiles at him. For the first time he can ever remember—something true and right and… wonderful. Her lips are a pale, pretty pink as they stretch into her cheeks, the shadow of their creases soothing the hard edges of his tired mind. “Your eyes,” she whispers, bringing up a hand. He doesn’t flinch, can barely think of moving as her bare fingertip touches the soft, dark skin above his cheek. Her touch is chilled yet warmth spreads through him, reminding him to breathe. Searching her gaze as best he can, Kylo quiets his loud yet empty thoughts as she continues, trailing the finger down his cheek like a second scar. “I always liked them.”

He swallows thickly, breath rushing out in the softest gasp, hand tightening its grip on his knee.

Then she pulls away, settling onto her knuckles again, closing her eyes. “Goodnight, Ben.”

Kylo is silent for a long time, watching as every muscle in her face relaxes, one by one, into the peaceful miasma of sleep long forgotten to him. Eventually he rises, still staring down at her as her body inflates and compresses.

She… likes his eyes?

It’s nothing he’s ever heard before. Certainly not something he’d expect from  _ her.  _ Yes, he’s aware of how he’s distracted her in the past—was somewhat amused that something as simple as skin could make a woman flounder—but he’d never thought… Well, he can’t really think, even if he wanted to. Besides, he shouldn’t put much stock into a drunken compliment. She could be lying, though if he’s being honest with himself, Rey is a terrible liar.

As he stares down at her sleep-smiling face, something  _ pings  _ in the other room. Checking to make sure she doesn’t stir, he pads into the sitting room to see a mailing unit emerge from the wall.

He reaches inside, pulling out a slim, familiar device. A new, basic comlink. Unprogrammed, by the look of it. Perfect for contacting any coordinate in the known systems. He grips it tightly in his hand, salvation the weight of an hourglass in his hand.

But he stops, stilled by the soft snoring echoing from the bedchamber. 

Looking up, he can see inside. See how her shoulders rise and fall, how her teeth  _ just  _ show from under her upper lip, how her eyelashes flutter as she dreams of an ocean she still hasn’t seen.

His feet carry him to her again. Somehow they always do. As he looks down at her, the weight of the comlink vanishes in his hands, and he knows that he cannot leave. Resigned with a sigh, he pulls the covers over her—boots and all—and goes to the refresher. 

He considers flushing it. Or he could bury it in the waste bin. But those decisions seem too final. If something were to happen, he’d rather have one, just in case. Still, he can’t risk Rey finding it on him.

He could hide them under the towels hiding in the wall, beside the text and his father’s blaster, but he decides to bury the device in his suitcase, instead. He changes his clothes in the sitting room, too worn by the days events to attempt the refresher, and stills when Rey pauses in her snoring. When it resumes he’s finally clothed and peeks in to look.

She sleeps so peacefully. With her inside, the bed looks all the more inviting. Perhaps a thought like that should scare him, warn him that he’s allowing himself to hope again.

But as he slides into the covers, turning off the lights as the distance of the mattress separates them, the traitorous part of his mind tells him that may not be such a bad idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for being so patient for this chapter! I promise that the angst will die down very soon so that we can dive headfirst into fluff (and eventually the smut, heheheheh~). I cannot tell you how much I appreciate your support. Ya'll are the BEST.
> 
> Congratulations to Rhinoplasty and Suzeraine, who were the closest to guessing what happened in this chapter! (yes, of course, there was food~). Rey indulged her appetite while Kylo indulged his *gasp* FEELINGS?
> 
> The next chapter is called "Observer."
> 
> Thanks again for all the love, everyone. You are the sweetest! *hugs*


	5. Observer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cupcake wakes to a headache, but goes to breakfast with her moody boy toy. Then they go exploring and have some good ol' ~angst~. Will they go to bed angry? Mildly aroused?

****Something splits, ripping Rey from sleep.

The feeling echoes in her mind in small fractures, a sudden pain throbbing in her skull. For a moment she forgets where she is, what happened last night, but as soon as she turns in the sheets everything comes crashing back.

On the other side of the bed, Ben lies prone on his back, stern features set into a deep frown.

Rey swallows, gradually sitting up. Her head swims, a violent slosh of pain swelling against the walls of her mind, and she braces her cool fingers against it for relief. She keeps her squinted eyes on Ben, curiosity blooming in her chest and rooting her still.

She can’t remember it clearly. Only losing him in her distraction, in her sudden, consuming solitude that sent her hunting for him.

She remembers the feeling of him being gone. The lingering sense of hatred she thought she’d lost returning to make her wrists and hands heavy at her sides. Disappointment, anger, fear struck her like a blaster bolt, reminding her that she’d been foolish enough to trust him.

And yet…

He’s still here. He didn’t leave her alone. He had every opportunity, she’s certain, to do something in those hours apart. Yet he stayed, and if it weren’t for the new rip in her brain forcing her to think less, she would probably question why.

As if sensing her stare, his eyes open. They do not flutter awake as she may have thought, but split wide and alert—as if he never slept at all. The sudden action makes her jump and, from her position on the edge of the bed, slide onto the floor.

She gasps as she goes down, taking a segment of silken sheet with her, and groans at the new ache spreading down her spine.

With heavy steps, Ben appears—he must have changed his clothes while she slept—and looks down at her. She stares right back. After a moment, he draws his chin closer to himself in a slight nod, as if agreeing with his own thoughts. “How are you feeling?”

His question unsettles her, but she adapts to the shift in behavior with relative ease. “Like I’ve been stunned.”

He nods again, a slight lock of hair bobbing against his cheek. He steps forward, towering over her, and stoops to slowly peel the sheet away from her snare. He avoids touching her skin and she watches him, dazed. “Do you remember what happened?”

The low tone of his voice rumbles, just above a whisper, and while the sound of still air hurts, somehow his doesn’t. She withdraws her ankle once it’s free, noting his careful abandonment of the sheet and heady stare.  “I… no,” she admits. After drinking that… well, things went askew. Lights and colors, words, but nothing else remains. Like a distant, unimportant dream.

He searches her eyes and rises, taking an unsteady breath. His hands clench and unclench at his sides. “It’s morning,” he observes.

“Oh.” Rey winces at the light streaking the floor behind him, but forces herself to her feet. She sways. Ben’s shoulders stiffen, primed for action. She can’t imagine why. Suddenly, her throat begins to close, and she paws at it softly. “Water,” she croaks.

Remembering himself, Ben steps back, moving to let her through. She walks into the refresher, memories of yesterday morning bursting like small strobes in her aching head. A distant reminder nags to search for her blaster. Stooping over the sink, she turns on the cold water, using her cupped hand to bring water to her lips and splash her face.

It helps some, inspiring her to use the facilities. She’s had practice with less-exotic commodes, but finds the experience oddly luxurious. Of course, she learns how to lock the refresher door. There will be no risks in _this_ sense, especially with someone—that someone being _Ben—_ in the next room.

When she comes out he is sitting on the couch, staring blankly at the deactivated holovision with hands on his knees. Rey takes the moment to note his long, angular legs and how prominently they jut into the space, as if his body was meant to puncture everything around him.

He notices her immediately, alert and tense. Rey rubs her temple, combating the lingering ache. Luckily he’s drawn the shades, leaving them in a comfortable grey. But the sudden shift from his earlier—dare she think—bravado leaves her wondering.

But another feeling overwhelms those thoughts as her stomach lurches. “I’m hungry,” she says, folding her lips.

Something flashes in his eyes, and he reclines. “I’m sure you could find some way to feed yourself.”

There’s no bite in his tone. In fact, it feels like a… _compliment._ She shifts her stance, sobering from the lingering pain for a moment.

Before she can think, or summon the strength to try some witty retort, Ben rises in a shuffle of cloth. This looks more like his usual wear—a high-collared black tunic with guarded sleeves. The fabric seems thinner, more like gauze, drawing attention to the firm set of his shoulders. “I’ll go with you,” he says, stepping closer.

Rey backs up, right into the wall she’d nearly been leaning on. The shock sucks away the pain she might have felt moments before. Her stomach rises into her throat, realization that she’s without defense striking her hard.

He doesn’t corner her, only walking past to grab his key from the table close by. His long fingers are oddly graceful, plucking the small device and stashing it carefully into the pocket of his trousers. He opens the blast doors and looks at her, waiting.

Rey takes the cue, pacing out onto the carpeted floor and pausing for him to catch up.

It’s an odd feeling, walking beside him down these halls. But he is persistent—slowing to match her shorter strides, speeding up when she feels inspired to hurry. For the first time he does not lead, does not coerce, or even follow _._ He’s just… _with._

The early-morning crowds are sparse, allowing Ben a wide berth to walk in that lumbering way of his. Every footfall is heavy, no doubt bearing the weight of purpose and simmering anger. She sees none of the second on his face the few times she sneaks glances through her lashes. In the pink light of simulated dawn, the shadows on his cheeks make him look tired. Like an ordinary man.

As they walk together in silence, taking in the still warmth of the _Supernova,_ Rey looks into shop windows. Their reflection ripples like the surface of a dark pond, showing her a face she barely recognizes as her own, and a tall shadow following along faithfully beside her. That word, _with,_ strikes her again.

She cannot bear to look at them anymore. Yesterday, for one foolish moment, she allowed herself to trust that Ben would… no, she can’t think about that.

It’s like the terrible, unyielding throb in her skull. The reminder that Kylo Ren is the one walking beside her, not… not Ben.

They—meaning Rey—follow the scent of something savory and sweet. Tucked into a small corner of the makeshift village, colorful orbs of light twinkle along the lintel and beams of the entrance, the quiet inside pulling her like an invisible thread.

Ben looks out of place like this, tall and intensely focused. He sweeps the room once, honing in on a table in the corner.

Rey fights a smile. For all his power and smug sense of insight, he seems like a man who prefers to remain _out_ of attention. She looks up at him, and unconsciously leans closer. “Let’s eat here.”

He follows the sound of her voice, turning to meet her eyes. It feels like it did before, the last time he was so close. As if having breakfast with the enemy held the same weight as begging him to remember something abandoned long ago.

When he nods slightly, Rey doesn’t fight her smile anymore. She’s woken clearly enough to sense something… _different_ about him. Is it possible for Kylo Ren to be in a good mood? While his face certainly doesn’t seem to say so, she sees something loose in the set of his shoulders, in the rounds of his eyes, in the gentle slope of his brow.

They sit across from one another again, a service droid approaching the table. It speaks in polite binary, asking for their room key. Ben obliges—ah, so he can understand astromech droids—while it configures his account, preparing to make the charges for the food. When the droid leaves, Ben pockets his key and looks to the side. His dark eyes rise and fall, as if scrutinizing the paneling in the wall. “So that’s how you paid for everything.”

Rey nods, thinking back to when he ditched her at the buffet. “Yes.” She doesn’t mention that the amount is virtually limitless, as she learned the day before, nor that the generous donors from Theed are responsible.

It makes a sick feeling spread in her stomach—the knowledge that it’s an investment to bring him down as soon as those heavy footfalls land on Coruscant.

She senses a flutter of something against her mind, and bats it away with a sharp glare into his open gaze. “What are you doing?” she challenges.

He folds his lips. “You’re hiding something.”

“So are you,” Rey combats, an obscene calm soothing over her skin in a cold rush. She sighs. “You… you can… _ask_ me, you know. It doesn’t have to always be,” she wiggles her fingers.

For the smallest, _smallest_ moment, he looks amused. A little light glints in his eyes, a reflection of the restaurant catching the perfect roundness of his pupils. “How can I know you’ll tell me the truth?” he probes.

“I could ask you the same thing,” she defends, a bit ruffled by his insinuation.

Ben doesn’t seem to notice her discomfort, sitting straight. The light in his eyes tightens to a sharp seriousness. “Rey,” he starts, holding her gaze. The earnest timbre of his voice, like yet unlike all the times before, holds her with baited breath. There’s hurt inside of it this time, but something _else_ too. “I have never lied to you.”

Her jaw hangs loose, playing his words in stuttering gasps as the service droid returns, blinking a screen of options. As Rey gapes, Ben reluctantly breaks eye contact to make a few quick, decisive taps, and sends the droid away.

Rey balks, blinking dumbly. “Hey! I didn’t get to—."

“No need,” he interrupts with a shrug, rolling his shoulders in the stiffest act of nonchalance she’s ever seen.

She frowns. “What did you order?”

Dark eyes meet hers, the dull light returning. “Everything.”

_~S~_

Despite Rey’s remarkable ability to outpace him at the table, she does not finish everything. She does try a bit of it all, eyes larger than her stomach, and Kylo can’t stop watching her.

He’s observed different species and cultures in the past, in the seemingly endless span of galaxy. He remembers plenty of them, bits and pieces of misplaced history and mistakes.

But for all of those moments of knowledge, and all he learned in his youth, simply being with _her_ is the most perplexing.

She is doing something. Something different. Feeling her in his mind the day before, leaking fear and anger into his thoughts, is unlike anything he’s ever felt. Certainly he’s received emotions from others, but only with the intent of feeling them at all.

It’s all puzzling. But the book hiding away in their room may hold the answers.

Ben takes a smaller bite, thinking to himself. He hasn’t deciphered much from the text. The thing is written in an ancient dialect—one he lost his cipher to when Luke’s Temple…

Well, he has some time to figure it out. He hasn’t looked at the thing in Maker knows how long, leaving it a relic on the _Finalizer_ along with his grandfather’s tarnished helm _._ So far, by his deduction, the book focuses intently on the interactions between the Force and living creatures. If only he had a translator, even one that managed to make out the strange lettering, he could—

“So, what’s the plan?”

He’s drawn back to her. “‘Plan?’”

Rey stuffs her face again. Some type of shredded meat. The sauce dribbles down her chin as she garbles, “Yeah.” She manages to swallow after only a few chews. Perhaps Rey is not fully human, but some subspecies of ravenous carnivore. It’s an interesting consideration, one he does not mull over as she wipes away her mess with the back of her hand. “As much as I like the whole ‘eating and sleeping and almost killing each other’ thing, perhaps there’s something else we could do?”

Kylo crosses his arms. Not defensive, but a bit wary. She’s planning something. He can see it in her eyes. “What might that be?”

“The Sky Deck?”

He doesn’t budge. He recalls seeing something of the sort on a passing Directory Kiosk. How convenient, that she would remember a map now. “Why would you want to go there?”

Stirring her plate, she doesn’t even try to take a bite. She must really be full. “I want to explore.”

She’s gone sheepish. The knowledge of her slight embarrassment for such a simple wish is doing something to his cheeks. He pushes the feeling down, quickly. She is likely requesting time to be alone.

That’s… understandable.

“Then I will return to our room.”

“No,” she denies, a bit rushed. Her eyes are wide and quite dark, in this light. They pull him in with their intensity. “I mean,” she stammers, “you could… come with me?”

He can’t believe what he’s hearing. Leaning forward slightly, as if coming closer will help him understand, Kylo keeps her ensnared with his gaze. “You want me to go with you?”

Something delightful sweeps over her face. She flushes, pretty lashes flickering as she holds very still. “Yes.”

Huh.

He dare not ask why, afraid to ruin this sudden, inexplicable turn of events. She only held him at gunpoint days ago, and now here they are, just…

It’s strange.

“Then I will go with you,” Kylo affirms tightly.

Rey, a bit shaky, wipes her hands on her pants. Had he meant to say that so quietly? The restaurant is beginning to fill up with patrons, the flesh-and-blood servers dancing cups of caf and now-familiar dishes in their webbed hands.

She should say something. He _did_ order the meal, after all. Though unnecessary, he… paid. He fed her. Even now, just the memory of different tastes lingers deliciously on her tongue, sloshes around in her belly. She’s never known such a sensation and, heaven help her, she _likes_ it.

When they rise and begin to leave, she takes a deep breath, honing in on his arm as it sways out the door. They join the slowly filling streets and she stays close, though she knows it would be hard to lose someone like him in a crowd like this. Still, she focuses on his naked hand, remembering the surprising warmth she found there.

Rey frowns. She almost wanted to forget that warmth existed. That Ben Solo ever lived. But, as she looks up at his eyes, scouring the crowd and picking through to find a turbolift, it’s hard to imagine Kylo Ren’s ever lived, either.

It’s a heady feeling, enough to distract her as she bumps into a passerby, reaching out and grabbing Ben’s arm to regain her balance.

Kylo starts, pausing to anchor her until she settles. They glance at each other before she immediately lets go, blinking rapidly and marching on.

The turbolift to the Sky Deck is massive, obviously built for shipping multiple patrons to the uppermost level of the ship. The ground roils in bright colors and Rey has no qualm—shifting sands provided plenty of practice, after all. But Ben seems daunted, refusing to acknowledge that the floor exists at all.

They manage to stand side by side. It’s far less intimate than every other time, yet… there’s an odd sensation of simplicity rippling through Rey. And, laced with that, _excitement._

When the doors open the entire world seems to change.

Eyes wide, she can’t take enough in at once. It’s like landing on a planet, the simulated sky stretches out—big and blue and beautiful—like a dome, landing somewhere on a distant, unseen horizon.

Racing forward along the path, she trusts that Ben will be close behind. Her soft boots pad on the scaly tiles winding into the numerous directions she could choose. At a glance the tiles seem like grass, but still they keep her even and steady. Solid yet pliant, she traces her way on a vein of white soft-tile, taking in her surroundings.

Trees—real?—sway in an artificial wind, lovely flowering bushes walling them in to the waist. But the green, the _green,_ races along her heart like she’s spent the morning running through it. It stretches out before her in a grand display, showing plenty but hiding much. Alien life meanders through, appraising their surroundings as the path becomes a wide plaza.

But...

Her feet bring her to a halt. When she stops to admire a tree, tracing her hand along the trunk, her fingers change its color. The soft brown turns to an unnatural blue, following the heat of her fingertips as she trails it over the ragged display. Sighing, she lets her hand drop to her side.

Kylo regards the stern look on her face. Just moments ago she’d been elated. Too shocked to smile, even, though perhaps he is only guessing there. Best not to guess. She _did_ say to ask, so he does, coming to stand beside her and glare at the offending tree. “What is it?”

Worrying her lip in a distracting way, she shakes her head. “It’s not real.”

He appraises the tree thoroughly, clasping his hands behind his back. “Yes, it is.”

“I…” She mutters. Kylo waits for her to continue, and she does not disappoint him. “I guess I’d hoped they would be real.”

Kylo’s eyes dart along their surroundings. From the stale, recycled air—hardly different from any of his star destroyers, outside of the faint floral odor—to the too-green grass and foliage, yes, everything is fake. His words come out clipped. “Nothing here is real.”

She cranes her neck to look at him, then, something small and broken lying thinly veiled in her eyes. It shakes him, the way she stares now, and he recognizes it instantly. Something is haunting her.

That won’t do. If they are to have a truce, then perhaps an act of peacemaking is necessary. Now that she’s, well, calmed, he can feel it too. It’s not something he’s willing to lose just yet.

So he releases his hands, coming closer to loom in front of her. They are relatively shaded, here, far enough from wandering eyes. Not that he would let that stop him. Her face stays turned up to him, curious yet unafraid, and it ripples through this intangible thing between them.

Then he crouches, Rey watching him, and spreads his fingers into the synthetic grass. They stretch long and hit solid ground—the lining of the soft tiles. He looks up at her from below, silently urging her to join him.

Rey swallows, pressing a knee to the meadow floor, keeping her eyes with him.

Kylo suppresses his pleasure seeing her cooperate. “Close your eyes,” he instructs.

His voice is gentle yet firm, and it reminds her of the night he told her why he destroyed Luke’s Temple. A distant memory of fear ripples through her, but quickly fades as she obeys, curious to know what he wants to show her.

He doesn’t close his. “You’ve done this before. You have sensed the Force all around you.”

She nods. “Yes.”

“Do it again,” he continues, “but try to find something new. Can you feel life, here?”

Reaching out, her fingers press into the sturdy ground hiding underneath. The Force comes to her like before, only faster. Life cloaks around her, her senses branching out further. She can feel the passengers teem like insects in a nest, and she gasps as the weight of them pushes on her mind. “Yes, so much.”

“Good.” His heart is starting to beat faster now. Watching her do this reminds him of the way she closed her eyes before battle—her face is relaxed, honed in to something greater. And knowing that _he_ is here to guide her in something so simple, well… he could get used to it. His hand acts on its own, covering hers and pressing down. “Find something else, Rey. Find what you’re searching for. _What_ are you searching for?”

“Something real,” she replies, just above a whisper. As she speaks, power surges from her tongue to the chords of her neck, down her shoulder to her arm and fingers. It ricochets off his warm palm and scatters into shards, and then—

She can see it. Here, on the ship, something green unfurls its tendrils. Somewhere, not far yet never close enough, a soft petal blooms and feeds life into the Force. It’s small, so small compared to the rest, but it’s there. There and real.

“I can feel it,” she smiles, opening her eyes, “I can feel it!”

His gaze is waiting for her when she looks up, feeling the Force begin to contract and lose focus. But before it’s lost completely, a numbing heat clouds her hand where he’s touching, blending into something new. They breathe together, suddenly something _else_ , before he seems to regain consciousness and slides his hand away from her.

Then the warmth drops, cold once more. Their breathing becomes their own again.

Rey rises first, staring down at him. “What was that?” she presses, nerves on fire. She hasn’t felt this shaken since she first held the lightsaber, the worrying tremble rooting in her ankles.

Kylo stands, clenching his hands as he tries to grip the sensation of her slowly escaping him, slipping through his fingers. “I’m not sure,” he answers simply, looking away, eager to change the subject. “You sensed it too, then?”

She blinks, taking a step back. Suddenly she very much needs to put some distance between them. “Uh, yeah…” Turning, Rey looks in all different directions. To the north, over the fake treetops, she can see the vague outline of a white building—not unlike Theed’s capitol design. That, however, would likely be the center of the deck. Farther north is where she felt it. She points in that direction. “There. Through the square, I think.”

“Mm,” he ascends, beginning purposeful strides in that direction.

Rey follows after him, eager to put that shaded spot behind them.

She still looks back, anyway, and clutches the small hope to her chest saying _everything_ she felt just now was real.

_~S~_

It’s not so much a square as a small city, which Ben attempts to skirt past. They debate with scathing glares before Rey simply walks into the main road, almost smiling to herself as Ben files in behind her.

The roads are white stone here, glowing under simulated sunlight. Rey allows it to bathe her face, following simple turns. Buildings clog the streets, as do people. There are plenty of humans here, enjoying themselves in shops and recreation tables.

Kylo huffs through his nose. This place is almost a carbon-copy of Theed, though on a smaller scale with minor tweaks. Some of the roads, he notices, taper into stairs, making the little city multi-leveled. An impressive feat, having a ship this large. Although, it _is_ a luxury liner.

Still.

Rey catches his bad attitude flaring as they enter a small plaza. Something delicious wafts through the air, but she ignores it. “What’s the matter?”

“I don’t like this place.”

Ever the honest one. However, Rey finds herself in the remarkable position of _liking_ this particular spot, so she puts her hands on her hips and stands her ground. “And why not?”

Good question, many answers. For one, he doesn’t like people. The fact that he finds himself surrounded by vast legions at his command has never dampered that severe dislike of gathered groups. For two, the place is pretentious, and reminds him of memories he’d rather forget. For three, he’d prefer to just get things over with and take her to the tiny pinprick of actual _green_ on this damn ship so he can see her smile again.

He could say these things to her, but he doesn’t, meeting her challenge with his hands at his sides, and gives her the first thing he’s willing to say.

“The _Supreme Leader_ should not be seen in such a ridiculous, sub-par tourist _trap,”_ he spits. It wasn’t supposed to come out so harsh, but it did and _damn it,_ her nose is scrunching up again.

Her eyes sweep him, gathering heat as they rove and return to him in a tight glare. “So that’s it? You can’t just enjoy yourself because you’re the ‘Supreme Leader?’”

She won’t make him crack. He’s not in the mood for anger right now, but he’s definitely not in the best spirits, either. Yes, having her under his hand for that one moment was—quite honestly—wonderful, but with the emptiness that followed came a vacuum of bitterness that’s been building over the past two days, over the last twenty-some years of his life. “No,” he grounds.

“Then what?” she nearly snarls. “I thought you could do anything you want. So why can’t you be seen?”

There’s something deeper behind her eyes and, were they not entering an argument, he may have tried to soothe it. But now he’s caught blowing flames on the fire, and he can’t find a way to stop. He takes a step closer. Her chin tips up to follow him, her heady gaze glaring right back. So close.

Kylo lowers his voice until it gravels. “I won’t have my face associated with a place like this—”

“—But galactic domination is just fine,” she counters, tone retreating to something soft and wounded.

He watches helplessly as she looks over the scar on his face, and can feel the ever-prowling anger within him begin to lunge for the surface. “It’s who I am, Rey,” he warns, unblinking as he studies her.

She takes a step back when he says her name, as if it were a weapon. Her eyes remain wide, untrusting and sad, as she shakes her head. “No.”

Kylo chuffs. “Is that so?” He reaches out with his mind, snatching her loose intent before she can even try to hide from him. Suddenly, it clicks in his mind, lighting the match and setting his fingertips on fire. For one terrible moment he wants to touch her again, but he stays very still, letting the emotions build on their own.

He can feel it now, worse than any fear of him—the fear _for_ him. And it’s...

“I see.” He doesn’t turn away, facing her head-on, following her in the step she took away from him. She backs into the shade of the building, cast in shadow until they are left in the flickering din of life unaware. “You still think you can turn me?”

She turns his words over in her mind before biting, _“No.”_

Rage is filling her up. He can sense it. The familiar, slogging _muck_ of magma gathering in her heart. “Then what?” he challenges, cornering her. _“What?”_

Rey tries to suppress it, the returning pain of her misplaced faith in him aboard the _Supremacy,_ but it persists in stinging eyes. No tears fall, here. No. She must be stronger than the painful memories, the thought of what could have been.

Now she must remember what still _could_ be. The reflection of them together in the windows below deck, the feeling of life in their hands.

Ben Solo lives. She’s sure of it, now more than ever, as his desperate eyes search her face, his demands leave his mouth as pleas, and his mind burns with confusion. She knows that she wants to find him, wants to take that future she saw and actually _make_ it real.

But she also knows who stands between them.

“I can’t turn you,” she says gently, returning to that place where they once were for just _one_ moment, almost forever ago. “Not me. Not your uncle, or your mother, or your father…”

Kylo swallows.

“...No one is going to turn you,” she continues. “I know that.” Her gaze follows the path of the wound she gave him, a strange feeling of pride and regret intertwining as she loses herself in the high collar of his tunic. “But I still…”

He is silent, watching her in earnest. Waiting.

“I still believe in Ben.” She looks into his eyes again, and she can’t bear it. His face has begun to crumble, its foundation in anger becoming something else. Something more. Her voice drops, a whisper in the small space still between them. “I believe in _you.”_

Kylo jars, stepping back as if she’d struck him. Something hot and horrible rips through his chest, like a lightsaber wound, and he is left bereft of thought.

Rey… believes… in _him_.

It doesn’t make sense. Does it have to? His empty mind still racing, whirring around in useless circles as his mind tries to grasp onto the sheer cliff of her face. But he is slipping, finding no purchase, no anger, no conflict, only… only…

“You,” he says, gaping at this _impossible_ girl. “You have a lot to learn.”

She offers the smallest of smirks, as if she knows something he doesn’t, and has no intention to share. “I think I can handle myself.” With that, she takes the space between them to turn and walk down the road, following that small trace of life somewhere on the horizon.

Ben doesn’t follow her. She can still feel the slightest trace of his presence lingering close by. He does not wander far, unlike her, who cannot seem to stop.

Which is perfectly fine for her. She hasn’t quite forgiven him for taking over the galaxy, or the episode in the throne room where his confusion got the best of him. But that was his choice, like it is his choice to linger in the lonely roads rather than appreciate the absolutely _stunning_ view at the center of the city.

Bright pools glimmer and sparkle, the watery surface almost crystalline. It looks good enough to drink, dancing in the gentle light and ricocheting like a vein of gems. All manner of beasts frolic within, enjoying the various sizes as Rey stands atop the stairs, pausing beside several lounge chairs to watch the legion of passengers enjoying this miraculous ship.

The Sky Deck instantly becomes her favorite.

But she is a girl on a mission! Hiking up her shoulders and striding her boots, she follows the arrows and departs the bustling city, entering a strikingly silent corner of the deck.

The artificial green still stretches here, but she can feel the life she found drawing closer. The white brick road narrows, the afternoon warmth cooling and sweet. She marches along the shallow knoll, looking up at the sky. Faintly, behind the blue—no sun, yet light shines!—she can see them: small flecks hidden and faded beyond the dome. _Stars._

Her feet take her to the entrance of a tunnel, and she stands before it with wide eyes. The structure seems to be made of wire, its gaping maw wide and tall enough to fit three of her. But that it not what pulls her in.

The wire is coiled with leaves. Light filters through the darkness waiting inside, the tunnel curving and leading somewhere she cannot see. She could easily walk around it, under the shade of the artificial trees, but this place… this is it.

Slowly, Rey reaches out her hand, taking a nearby leaf in her fingers and smoothing over the waxy surface. It’s silken to the touch, pliant and patient under her hand. She breathes in with the Force and is filled with _life._ The beautiful color, the wonderful smell, the crisp touch of each vein sings against her skin until she feels lush with peace.

She smiles, letting it go, and walks into the tunnel, enveloped by the shroud. The tunnel turns and winds, peppered with flowers as she goes deeper. The Force curls its tendrils around her as she moves on, the taste of life and light sinking into her very bones. She feels powerful in here, reaching out her hand to caress a swath of soft vines above her head.

The tunnel narrows slightly, intimate and snug yet leaving room to breathe. From the corner of her eye, something dark shifts, and she does not stop as she turns her head to look.

Outside the wall, a shadow follows beside her. It’s tall, quiet, and there. A familiar feeling uncurls in her chest.

As she slows, it slows with her. _With._ Flowers respond as she walks past, opening to reveal their yellow buds. But still she watches it as it follows, and holds her arm to touch the leaves as her legs carry her on. On. On.

They crinkle and sway under her hand as she keeps it with the dark figure, and a heady feeling of desire weighs itself heavily within her ribs. The heat of it spreads like a fire, raw and untamed, laid bare as the sensitive petals of a flower. In her mind she can feel something else, something new, banging its fists and raking its claws around a secret place within her own soul. It frightens her, it excites her, it spurs her feet faster and faster until she is left bursting into the light.

And he is there, rounding the lip of the tunnel’s end.

Rey’s heart hammers in her chest, struggling to catch up with her racing thoughts. All is quiet here, bright. She’s lost in the deep pools of his eyes, the same ones that held fast to her since the instant she first saw them. He sees into her, further than anyone has, and for one, _maddening_ moment she never wants him to stop.

He parts his lips, sucking in an unsteady breath. “Rey—”

Everything goes dark.

Systems shine where blue once was, the day instantly subdued by night. All around them the world becomes alight with countless stars, flowing like a river over the arc of the dome. Rey gasps, breaking free of her trance to fall under their influence.

Her feeling of the quiet corner was true. Not far, past a wide garden of sleeping flowers, a railing stretches beyond the line of sight. She goes to it, racing to the edge of the world to look down at the stars spread out beneath her.

Kylo watches her retreat, longing trailing after her. The way her hands brace against the railing as if she might throw herself over, the soft brush of air sweeping up along her neck and baring it between rich brown strands, and, _oh_ , the sweet smoothness of awe along her dark eyes suddenly bright with curiosity and wonder.

He’s seen these things before in briefest glimpses into his own mind, traitorous as it is. This galaxy bared before her now, wide and vast and _full,_ means less than nothing. For the way she looks at them, looks at _him,_ they should kneel before her, spin beneath her feet, bow before her awesome might. She blazes here, the brightest of stars, ready to burst and consume.

And he…

“What is _that,”_ she gawks, staring out into the abyss.

Among the stars, along the side of the ship, a herd of  large creatures propel themselves with the steady undulation of finned tails. Their long, bulbous bodies streak slowly just beyond the dome of the Sky Deck, echoing the _Supernova’s_ leisurely pace.

“An Orcais migration,” Kylo explains, coming to stand beside her. He clasps his hands behind his back, staring out into the stars to watch them swim through the cosmos. “They are the only known beings able to survive in open space.”

“I never knew anything like that existed,” she whispers, as if to herself, following them with her raptured gaze.

He casts her a sidelong glance. The stars shine silver on her cheek. He says nothing, thinking instead of how many wonders she has yet to see. Things he could show her.

One of the Orcais drifts up, sliding high into the sky with an arcing grace. Something white spits from an orifice atop its body, sending thousands of small flecks drifting haphazardly into space. The substance drips along the protective barrier of the ship, blossoming thick fluorescence across the stars, lighting the night with color.

Rey smiles. “It’s beautiful.”

Kylo does not say what he wants to say. No. Here, with her, like this, he says something different. “Did you mean it?”

Rey blinks, tugged out of the marvelous sight bursting all around them. His nose remains pointed to the distance, eyes wandering lost in the stars. “Mean what?” she asks softly, terrified of shattering this sudden fragility.

He opens his mouth. “That you believe in me.”

Her throat squeezes, choking off her oxygen. “Of course,” she presses, leaning closer. He responds to this by closing his eyes, simply breathing, and she wishes she could know what he’s thinking.

This isn’t wrong. It should be, perhaps, but it’s not. It’s Rey. It’s always Rey. It’s Rey in the grass, in the leaves, in the flowers, and now, in the endless night sky. Talking to her is like talking to some distant piece of himself lost long ago. So easy. So hard.

So…

“I don’t,” he confesses, clipped and quiet. “Why should you?”

She makes a face like a shrug. “I don’t know. I just do.”

His eyes open now, dark and searing as they turn on her. “But _why?”_

Standing firm, Rey keeps a tight grip on the banister with one hand, pivoting her body to face him and leave the other limp. “Because this,” she gestures to him, “isn’t who you are.”

“How would you know what I am?” He challenges, voice rising slightly. It echoes along the garden floor, drifting like an ocean wave before a storm. “Who I am hardly matters.”

“That’s not true—”

“Isn’t it?” he nearly hisses, trembling. His hands fall to his sides, now, not quite fists. Everything on his face hangs open. His eyes, his mouth, his emotions laid bare. Anger, confusion, _conflict_ boils to the surface and Rey braces herself for the fire. “My own _name_ was never mine. No. A general’s _son_ , a criminal’s _son._ A Jedi’s _successor._ Blood. That’s all they ever said—blood. _Skywalker_ blood,” he snarls, holding his wrist in front of him, as if offering a sacrifice. The tension rises in his shoulders, spreading to his jaw, and he hates the way his eyes sting, blurring her face even as it comes closer.

Rey moves, closing her hands over his shaking fist, keeping him still. He doesn’t pull away as she tightens her hold on his massive hand, only looks to her as if she were the only person left in the galaxy to listen.

She understands, then. When she touches his hot skin, stretched tight, she can feel it swirl within her. This man has lived a life trying to fulfill some destiny he never wanted. It hits her then that no one ever _asked_ him to become this way, never thought he would be anyone other than the son of Han Solo, of Princess Leia… heir to the Skywalker legend, never…

“Ben.”

He bows his head, staring at her hand and finding nothing. Nothing but understanding. Patience, warmth, _light_ ripples along her surfaces, her mind soft and welcoming, open to him as she speaks a new name. Not the name he was given, not the name he chose. No—this is different, and he cannot bear to face it, yet still here she is, and here they are, his fist coming loose to rest in her waiting palms.

Rey takes a breath as the tips of his fingers slide along the sensitive inset of her own, and she simply holds him in her hands, urging his eyes to find hers again. When they do, she feels starlight blend with the impossible Orcais, casting evening shadows over them here, alone. With a slow exhale, she pushes her hopes into his skin, feels it travel up his arm and into his mind. He wanted her to tell the truth. And right here, right now, he will get it.

“It’s not who you have to be,” she whispers, keeping her urgency. “It’s who you _are.”_

“Then who am I?” his voice cracks. “To you?”

Looking back down at their touching hands, Rey slowly lowers them until she lets go. He doesn’t resist, but doesn’t encourage it, either. “I’m not sure,” she answers honestly. Then she smiles at him, small and hopeful and ever _her._ “But I want to find out.”

_~S~_

Ben stares at her, as he usually does, but something shifts behind his eyes. The ever present heat that lingers in darkness spreads thin, nearly dissipating. He looks confused, and Rey smiles wider despite herself.

They left the garden, and have finally managed the trek back to the turbolift that will return them to the Main Deck. It would seem the Orcais are a special attraction. A rarity, in fact. Rey credits the Force for that little happenstance. Ben has nothing to say, lost in thought. Regardless, it would seem nighttime came early on the _Supernova._

Ben uses his own key to open the blast doors, wandering inside like a ghost. He drifts into the refresher, and Rey makes herself useful by scouring the room for Han’s blaster. Though she feels like Ben made great progress today, she doesn’t know how long it will last. She’s placed enough hope in him before to know that precaution is necessary.

She sighs, finding nothing, as the doors open to reveal—

Oh.

He walks out in sleeping pants and nothing else. Rey, casually perched on the arm of the couch—definitely _not_ looking for a weapon to use against him—gawks. Remembering herself, she looks at the wall. “Seriously? What about that shirt you wore yesterday?”

She can feel him pouting at her. “It’s too dirty.”

Rey scoffs. “You wore it _once.”_

Suddenly, surreally, he starts to stalk closer. Rey holds her breath, beside herself with confusion. Before, there was a good distance between them. It was easier to force herself to look at his face, back when she hated him.

But now, that won’t be possible.

He’s flesh and blood, towering over her even when she gets nervously to her feet. He’s just _staring,_ and she can’t have that without knowing where he’s looking. So she takes a deep breath, meeting his eyes.

His hair caresses his face, framed along his cheeks. He must have combed it out. In the low light of their room she finds each inky strand compliments the shadows in his melting eyes and—nope. _Nope._

“Something wrong?” He questions, a lilt in his tone.

She frowns at him, then brushes past, absolutely _not_ feeling the warmth from his bare arm against the slight skin between her sleeves. “I need the ‘fresher.”

He watches her go, and she swears she can _feel_ him smiling.

Rey spends the next hour or so learning the wonders of a shower. The endless stream feels marvelous against her naked back, steam crawling along the walls like ivy. She rubs the appropriate shampoos into her hair from the built-in module, trying several options before settling on a wonderful—but not edible, she discovers—fruity wash.

She brought one spare outfit with her meager belongings, the only other one she has. It’s from the day she went to the _Supremecy._ If not for this trip, she may have buried or burned it in an effort to destroy the memories. But now, she finds, she doesn’t mind so much.

Placing her dirty clothes in the wash, she lets it run, enjoying the sight of bubbles swirling and cleaning in seconds what used to take her hours. Towel-dried and refreshed, she slips into her long, grey trousers and black tunic, wraps her arms securely, and plucks at her drippy hair when she returns to the den.

Han’s blaster is on the table.

Ben shifts on the other end of the couch, stirred from whatever deep thought he was in. His eyes rove over her before settling on her face.

Rey deftly reaches out, taking the blaster in hand, considering the barrel with scrutiny. “Why?” she asks, a small, pleased smile blooming between her cheeks.

Ben stands, walking past her and heading to the bedroom. “Because.”

She watches him go, rooted still. “Because what?”

He stops, massive in the open archway, and looks back at her. There’s a sense of calm about him, now, as he offers the smallest of shrugs. “Just because.”

 _He trusts me,_ Rey realizes as he turns his bare back to her, watching him eye the bed like a man starved. She follows slowly, looking between the side she woke up on that morning and the chair she designated as her post, stiff and silent in the corner.

He peels back the sheet on his side, then notices her plight. “What’s wrong?”

“Nuh,” she clears her throat. “Nothing.” Shaking her head, Rey realizes she’s a complete _dolt_ for even considering sleeping in the same bed as him, and settles herself in her chair.

Ben frowns and, with a lift of his hand, twitches his fingers. Rey yelps, holding on to the arms of the seat as her chair is _dragged_ along the carpet, forcing her to the bedside she slept on last night.

She considers yelling at him, but he cuts her off. “If it bothers you, then don’t.” He says no more as he slips into the bed, turning his back to her and shutting off the light.

Rey is left in starlight from the viewscreen window, staring at his inky mop of hair and weighing her options. On one hand, she could stay in this chair, get no sleep, and wait for some inevitable betrayal. On the other hand, she could lay down with the blaster in her hand—safety on, no messy accidents—and get a good night’s sleep. In bed. With Ben Solo.

The choice is obvious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for waiting for me, guys. It's finals season now, plus I'm working on a project for the Reylo Fanfiction Anthology, so things are gonna get pretty hellish. Your comments will help me stay strong and come back soon. ;3; 
> 
> Next chapter is called "Light." If you can guess what happens, I'll give you a cookie.
> 
> All my love,
> 
> avidvampirehunter

**Author's Note:**

> Hit the subscribe button to receive alerts on chapter updates! Come say hi on Tumblr @avidvampirehunter. *hugs*


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